


Equilibrium

by allegoriest



Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-17 11:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4665414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allegoriest/pseuds/allegoriest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Canon divergence. Staven Frelennye hears the rumours about Vanyel and Tylendel, and comes for an unexpected visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 21 Days of Valdemar Collection! 
> 
> Original prompt: _What if Staven (Tylendal's twin) came for a visit while Vanyel and Tylendal were together? And what if Tylendal persuaded everyone to try a threesome?_
> 
>  
> 
> _Can also be an "Everyone Lives" AU._

Vanyel sat curled up next to the window, humming softly to himself as his fingers moved carefully over the strings of his lute. He still wasn't fully healed, and he knew that within a candlemark, the unpleasantly familiar ache would be back. 

But the day was warm and bright and a soft breeze was causing the curtains to stir, carrying the scent of sweet grass indoors. It was a good day, he thought. And Tylendel would be back soon. Perhaps he'd ask Vanyel to play for him again. 

He'd practice a little more, Vanyel thought, but not enough that his hand refused to cooperate any further. He wanted to be _better_ , to show 'Lendel what he could do, to see that contented smile on the older boy's face as he listened, and—

_Bang!_

A loud crash interrupted his reverie, and his fingers slipped, _twanging_ off the strings. He heard Mardic's quiet voice in the other room murmuring as he moved to open the door. That noise was apparently someone's approximation at knocking. _A visitor? Now? But—_

"If you'll excuse me! No need to worry, just here for a visit—" 

Vanyel could hear heavy footsteps approaching. Coming to _his_ room. The room he shared with 'Lendel—

The voice was cheerfully loud, but firm, and—

_Familiar?_

Before he could do more than jump to his feet, the door slammed open and Vanyel found himself staring up at a tall young man with arched brows furrowed over narrowed brown eyes, lips pulled back in a slight curl that Vanyel struggled to identify. He was taller even than Tylendel, shoulders at least a hand's width wider; his blond curls were cropped close, but otherwise—

 _A spitting image_ , Vanyel thought weakly, as Staven Frelennye advanced on him with the widest unfriendly smile he'd ever seen. 

"You must be Vanyel," Staven stopped just short of him, leaning like he was relying on his height, his very _presence_ to weigh down on Vanyel, with no need to raise his voice or threaten violence; as though the sheer force of his will could make Vanyel take a step back.

It worked. He did.

"I've heard a lot about you," Staven continued, taking a step forward of his own to immediately close the space Vanyel had made. "Particularly about that mouth of yours."

 _Oh, gods_ , Vanyel thought deliriously. _He hasn't spoken with 'Lendel yet. He thinks I'm what I'm pretending to be. 'Lendel couldn't have sent him a letter; it'd have been too risky. What must he think? I don't dare tell him until 'Lendel—_

Staven lifted a hand, and still Vanyel couldn't move, frozen with indecision, stomach twisting at the sight of this person (so very much like 'Lendel, but so very much _not_ ). He forced himself to open his mouth, to stammer out something, anything.

"S-Staven, please…" 

Staven's gaze flickered, and he paused, one eyebrow raising very slightly.

And then, the door slammed open again, this time without any knock, and Staven spun around immediately, just in time to catch Tylendel in both arms and spin him around, lifting him straight up off the ground with an uproarious laugh. 

"Staven! You absolute cad! You monster! I can't believe you…!" 

"Is that the kind of welcome I get, after all this time? You can't put that on _me_ , when you're the one with the heart of ice!" 

" _My_ heart is beating out of my chest. I just ran all the way from across the field! Savil'll have my _head_ for this, I left her hanging in the middle of a lesson." 

Vanyel watched this exchange with eyes as wide as saucers, very slowly sinking down onto the bench again, feelings as though his legs weren't fit to hold him any longer. They seemed to have completely forgotten he was there, holding each other close, _looking_ at each other with matching brown eyes, matching gleeful smiles, matching devoted expressions.

He felt a poisonous stirring in his stomach, uncoiling unpleasantly. 

He tried to shove that back down, to swallow it, but it was too late. Tylendel's head jerked to the side, breaking the connection between himself and Staven just long enough for his gaze to fall on Vanyel, though Vanyel couldn't help but feel like for a moment, he still wasn't looking _at_ him.

"…Vanyel? …oh, Havens, Staven, I need to tell you—"

Staven tilted his head back and laughed. "Do you think I haven't figured it out yet? One look at this room is enough. I sure hope you're not entertaining company often, or your secret would be out in a heartbeat." He broke the embrace with Tylendel, turning to regard Vanyel with considerably more amusement and much less menace. "Though I couldn't really help myself. Thought he might still need a _bit_ of a taste of what happens if you mess with my little brother."

Vanyel felt his mouth drop open as Tylendel began to laugh. 

Near the doorway, Donni cleared her throat. 

"Everything alright in here?" she asked, gaze travelling between them with a wary look. Vanyel startled a little again; he hadn't realized the other trainee was there watching, but she stood with Mardic at her shoulder, looking very much like she'd been prepared to knock someone down flat.

"Everything's wonderful," the twins answered in unison, and Tylendel punched Staven in the shoulder, none too gently.

"I'm sorry, Donni," Tylendel said with as much sincerity as he could muster, while still fighting to tear his gaze _away_ from the cause for his apology. "It really is alright. I'm sorry for him… do you mind giving us a little space, though? We have some catching up to do."

With one last raised eyebrow, and a pause that lasted a little _too_ long, Donni met Tylendel's gaze, then shrugged, slipping back into the other room with her lifebonded and shutting the door quietly behind herself. 

There was a moment of silence.

"…me, too?" Vanyel forced himself to say, heartbeat still thrumming so fast he could feel it pulsing in his fingertips. The back of his neck prickled; this room had felt like a safe haven for so long, and now he felt nothing more keenly than the desire to bolt.

Tylendel looked at him quickly, eyes widening slightly, then glanced back at Staven with visible uncertainty. Vanyel saw that hesitation, and felt a cold, prickling fear.

" _You're_ not going anywhere," Staven drawled, slapping Tylendel on the back so hard that the trainee stumbled towards Vanyel with a little squeak. Staven's voice was lower than 'Lendel's, Vanyel thought distantly, but still higher than Vanyel's own. That felt strange, somehow.

Staven's words caught up with Vanyel, and he drew a breath. "Wait, what—?" 

Staven strode closer to him, pulling out a chair with one foot. He kicked it to face Vanyel before sinking down into it with a drop of his weight that made the legs creak briefly. "'Lendel and I have a lot to catch up on," he says, and again the twins couldn't seem to resist sharing a knowing glance. He reclined slightly, arms draped to either side of himself, fingers drumming briefly. "But somehow I'm _really_ getting the impression this is where we should start." 

Vanyel could only nod, then after a moment, he held up his lute; demonstratively, but feeling a little like he was raising a shield, peering out behind it.

"Just . . . let me get her stored." 

Staven shrugged, but that seemed to be enough to deflect his attention for now, leaving Tylendel an opportunity to set in on him. 

"Now, _you_ answer me this—"

Vanyel rose, turning away from them both to head to the instrument rack, spending a little more time than strictly necessary, listening to the two voices across the room and feeling a thousand miles away.

***

The rumors about Tylendel and Vanyel—the rumors they'd _wanted_ to spread—had found their way back to the Frelennye holdings with impressive speed. Vanyel half-wondered if this meant he'd be receiving a letter from his parents soon. His father had more than enough interest in keeping Vanyel under heavy scrutiny, he was sure.

Though, unlike Staven Frelennye, Withen Ashkevron was unlikely to hop on a horse and charge down to see what this was all about himself. 

"I can't _believe_ you!" Tylendel was doubled over, half in laughter and at least partly in outrage. "With everything going on right now…!" 

The remainder of what made up that laugh, Vanyel was sure, was a sense of… pleasure. Tylendel was scolding his brother even as Vanyel sank down onto the bench near the twins again, but he could tell his heart wasn't in it.

Tylendel was _thrilled._

And Staven could tell, too. He listened to Tyendel attentively nonetheless, until he abruptly decided he'd had enough of even pretending, reaching up to grab Tylendel by both arms and haul him firmly down into his lap.

Vanyel felt his cheeks go involuntarily, _impossibly_ scarlet, hands clenching on his lap.

"Enough, enough!" Staven groaned, as Tylendel sputtered, laughing again, trying to move into a more upright position. "You're killing me! I want to talk about something more interesting! Do you know how awful it's been? You know how awful it's been. I don't want to talk about it. I want to talk about _you_ , and the rest can come later. Indulge me before your harridan of a teacher comes back and drags me around the pasture by the ear." 

"Keep that mouth off Savil," Tylendel said sternly, though with not _nearly_ as much heat as Vanyel would have liked. "She's the loveliest woman I know. Besides, you _know_ you'd deserve it." 

"I was kind of thinking the title of _loveliest_ belonged to someone else entirely," Staven said shrewdly. 

Tylendel managed to struggle his way free, dropping down heavily onto the bench, halfway between the two of them. At Staven's comment, his lips parted on a little "oh," and he ducked his head, curls tumbling over his forehead. He looked at Staven for a moment, then looked at Vanyel again—really _looked_ at him, and Vanyel swallowed heavily, sitting still and silent, the fierce blush thankfully (mostly) faded from his cheeks. At least, Vanyel thought, he wouldn't look as ghastly pale as he felt he ought to be.

"Staven, this is . . . this is Vanyel," Tylendel managed, finally, with an odd, unfamiliar sort of shyness, gaze meeting Vanyel's as he reached out a hand to him. 

Vanyel felt himself caught, felt the prickling fear and discomfort ease away as he gazed at Tylendel's face. There it was again: that smile, just for him; the curve of his lips, the warmth of his gaze, long lashes heavy over his brown eyes. Vanyel felt himself smiling softly in return as their fingers touched, then tangled together. That feeling of something warm thrumming gently between them, wrapping around him. Safe, and just… _right—_

"Lady's _tits_!" Staven burst out, making them both jump. "You'll both _drown_ me. Here I was, expecting some stuck-up, repressed prig that you'd somehow managed to shove face-first into a mattress regardless. Oh, I _knew_ you had to be the one he was fucking," he waved a hand, acknowledging Vanyel's startled look but ignoring his scandalized half-protest. "But from the stories, I expected the sort that spewed poison and then drank it later, couldn't be shut up unless you stuffed his mouth full with a—"

"Staven!" Tylendel snatched his hand back from Vanyel's, launching forward to cover his brother's mouth (his entire _face_ ) with both hands. He was laughing again, Vanyel noted, even though he seemed to be trying to stay stern, perhaps for Vanyel's sake. "It's not like that! Vanyel is—Vanyel just has to… well, you remember what it was like for me," he finished, staring at Staven imploringly. 

Silence stretched again and Vanyel felt it heavily, pressing at him as though he were on the other side of a locked door and could only just hear far-off murmurs through thick wood; murmurs he knew to be about _him._

After what seemed to be an eternity, the twins exhaled as one.

"He seems happy," Staven said, looking at Vanyel. _He_ , meaning Tylendel. "He _has_ seemed happy," he corrected himself. Vanyel noticed with some curiosity that Tylendel jumped slightly, surprised. "So of course I'd have been curious. I've been crawling the walls at home, and this was just too much. I heard about you, heard about—"

His gaze darkened briefly, along with his mood; for a moment, Vanyel caught a glimpse of something deep, and heavy, and raw—

"—a lot I couldn't do damned thing about at home, so leave me be about it," Staven finished with such an air of finality that both Vanyel and Tylendel drew back slightly in their seats.

Staven caught and grabbed the end of the conversation before it could drag, leaning forward with his elbows resting on both knees, a lopsided grin crossing his features, chasing away any hint of what had been there before. 

"So tell me how this all came about."


	2. Chapter 2

Tylendel told him.

He was slightly hesitant at first, as if struggling to put it into words. But that wasn't quite it, Vanyel realized; he knew what Tylendel wanted to say, and it was _everything_.

_He's holding back for my sake_ , he thought. Tylendel was struggling between the desire to open up to his twin about it all, every minute and dirty detail—perhaps even things he hadn't even mentioned to Vanyel. 

At the same time, Tylendel wasn't sure how much Vanyel would be comfortable with him sharing, so at least in front of him, he wasn't.

The realization simultaneously warmed and depressed him.

Staven was a surprisingly attentive listener once Tylendel got going, face growing composed and relaxed. In that pose, he resembled Tylendel so much that Vanyel could almost think them identical. The slight pout of his generous lips, the long lashes covering warm brown eyes… it was frankly astounding how all that softness seemed to vanish when Staven was in movement, all blunt words and sharp edges. They were cut from the same cloth but formed into something else entirely.

He was compelling, Vanyel realized, and immovable. This was his power. This was 'Lendel's rock, his strength, the person that helped Tylendel weather a thousand storms and brought him through to the other side. The beautiful, empathetic, sensitive, and gentle 'Lendel lived and was allowed to flourish in the shelter of Staven's steel and force and fire. 

Vanyel knew it, as sure as he knew anything. Tylendel knew it. Staven knew it, too. 

He wondered if any of them knew what it _meant._

"—can't let his father find out," Tylendel was finishing, with a little shrug. "So that lands us where we are. You'll need to play your part as well," he added, not with any sense of _doubt_ , but a firm reassurance.

"Should I threaten him in public?" Staven said with a rakish grin, the soft edges of his mouth fading. Vanyel felt himself exhale, though now he was on the spot, fixed under Staven's piercing gaze. "Rub his face into the mud? I can't let you have all the fun." 

"No more mud! Gods above…" Vanyel held up both hands in mock-surrender, dredging up a smile he hoped didn't look as forced as it felt. "I was finding it in the sheets for days."

"Not the only thing, I'm sure," Staven chuckled, then laughed harder at Vanyel's immediate flush. "Oh, he's great, 'Lendel. _I_ couldn't handle it. He seems so fragile, I feel like I'd break something." 

"Not _that_ fragile, I promise you," Tylendel said archly, but with some weight behind it. 

Vanyel felt the words flying over his head and gritted his teeth, rising to meet them.

"Capable enough of holding my own." He bit out the rejoinder. "This isn't a game with room for missteps." 

He didn't think Staven would do anything purposeful to put this in danger. He loved 'Lendel—that much was as clear as day. But Vanyel wasn't taking any chances, and there was something too wild about this boy to trust to be contained. 

_In both of them_ , he considered, the thought crossing his mind almost unbidden. _There's something there that could tip this all to unravelling._

Tylendel seemed a little surprised at Vanyel's tone; had the benefit of his Empathy behind it, Feeling it as well as hearing. Staven just slapped his knee and laughed again. Vanyel thought (but could have imagined) that his eyes were a little sharper. 

"Is it a game to you, Vanyel Ashkevron?" he asked shrewdly.

"It's my life," he answered, more raw than he'd like. "I want to be with 'Lendel forever." 

_That_ seemed to get a reaction out of Staven. "With us, then," he said pointedly, and Vanyel felt that weight again, almost a palpable pressure. 

"Of course you'll be there," Vanyel answered smoothly. "Just don't think that I won't be." 

"My brother seems to think you will be." 

"Then I'd love to get along," is what Vanyel says. _If only for 'Lendel's sake_ is what he doesn't. 

Tylendel had been frowning a little at the exchange, almost imperceptibly, but he relaxed into a faint smile at their apparent coming-to-terms. "This is great," he murmured. "I'd been looking forward to introducing you both, but I didn't expect it to be so soon…"

"Why _are_ you here?" Vanyel found himself asking, quizzically. "Other than coming to see what was going on with 'Lendel and me. What's going on with you at home—?" 

Staven's expression darkened immediately, and Tylendel blanched. 

"I already _said_ —" Staven started, but Tylendel lifted a hand to forestall him, though his voice was weak. 

"I haven't told him. He doesn't know." He turned almost immediately after that to Vanyel, as if trying to forestall the anticipated protest. "It's—family things, Vanyel. Savil made me promise I wouldn't get you involved…"

Staven barked out an unpleasant laugh, sharp and dragging. "He's damn well going to be involved if he's serious about you."

"I'm serious!" Vanyel blurted out, leaning forward despite himself. "More serious than I've ever been about anything in my life! Please, 'Lendel—" He gazed as his lover imploringly, trying to wrench his attention towards himself. _Look at me. Be with me. Include me!_

Tylendel still looked conflicted, but nodded slowly, meeting his gaze for a long moment, before casting a glance Staven's way. 

" _I'll_ tell you the whole sordid story!" Staven snapped, almost spat. "I'll tell you everything about those vile, murdering—"

He did. The accidental death (brushed off, an _accident_ ) of the Leshara boy; the vengeful, poisonous murder of their mother and the discovery of her body; escalations and failed reparations; the snake-tongue of Evan Leshara in the Court, and everyone's failure to acknowledge Staven's rightful place as Lord Holder. Too young, too hot-headed, too immature—

All the while, anger _rolled_ off of him in waves. A deep, poisonous, rusting hatred that made Vanyel feel queasy. From Staven, it was sharp and metallic, dripping from every word, every rough jerk of his chin and agitated clench of his fists. But Tylendel was equally complicit, his own brows furrowed, mouth tucked into a frown, a frightening blankness in his gaze.

Vanyel felt sick.

"—and Leshara's got the nerve to try to convince everyone that their idea of a settlement is _reasonable_ ," Staven was snarling. "Dammit, 'Lendel, you could at least _say_ something—you're a Herald, why _shouldn't_ they listen to you?"

It was barely there, but Vanyel caught Tylendel's flinch, even as he responded quickly. "I can't. It's _because_ I'm a Herald. I'm a neutral party. Do you think I like this? It's driving me mad!"

"Hang the Heralds!" Staven slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair so hard Vanyel was sure it would break. "You're _family_!"

"Stop!" Vanyel interrupted, voice ringing, and both twins jerked their heads towards him, identical expressions of surprise on their faces. Vanyel drew in a breath, trying to project a calm he wasn't feeling, gazing between the two of them with an earnestness he himself couldn't believe. "He's doing his best… 'Lendel has a duty. I—I don't understand it either," he confessed, "I really don't. But it's obviously important to him. _You're_ obviously important to him, so if he's doing something like this… gods, I can't imagine what a strain it is…" 

Tylendel's expression had softened; his shoulders relaxed, as if he felt what Vanyel had been trying to project, leaving him looking lost. But looking at _him_.

Vanyel gazed back at him, and kept his chin held high.

After a long moment, tense and vibrating like a harp string, Staven let out a harsh sigh, pushing himself to his feet and walking around to the chair behind Tylendel, leaning down to wrap his arms around him. 

"... I know that," he muttered, pressing his face into Tylendel's curls. Vanyel watched as Tylendel's expression immediately lightened, and he leaned back into that, eyes closed. "It's just so damned _frustrating_."

"I know it," Tylendel murmured back, and Vanyel felt them both slip away again, back into that heavy silence where the rest of the world faded to whispers. It hung for a long moment, during which Vanyel could hear nothing more strongly than the sensation of his own blood pounding between his ears, dry throat catching as he tried to swallow.

Finally, Tylendel spoke. "But what else can we do…?" He sounded bitter, rather than wistful. Heavily resigned, like he'd turned the words around in his head and on his tongue more times than he could count. 

_He has_ , Vanyel realized. _And I had no idea._

" _I_ don't have to dance when the Heralds tell me to," Staven growled, glancing up in Vanyel's direction, but still not _at_ him. "I'll give Evan Leshara a piece of my mind, and anyone else that cares for it. A piece of my fist, too." 

Vanyel felt something cold stirring in the pit of his stomach. 

But before he could do anything more than draw a sharp breath, he heard the front door to the suite open again. Heard his Aunt's voice—

"Lord and Lady, you children will be the _death_ of me! Tylendel—!"

Tylendel gave a start, and Staven just laughed, straightening up and looping his hands in his waistband, striding casually towards the door. "Let's go bid a good evening to your _lovely_ Lady Teacher," he grinned down at Tylendel, all traces of his foul black mood vanished behind a dazzling veneer. 

"I'll sacrifice you in a heartbeat," Tylendel told him confidently, jumping to his feet, and not meaning it at all. "Don't think I won't…!" 

Neither of them seemed to notice, or care, when Vanyel didn't follow. Instead, he grabbed his cloak, flinging it around his shoulders and disappearing out into the garden. 

He could hear the shouting begin as the latch clicked behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Vanyel wandered through the field, feet trailing in the wet grass, leaving sinking imprints in the soft mud. The air smelled crisp and clear, exceedingly chill for a summer day. The rain had been heavy earlier. He hoped Staven had been caught in it. 

He tried to steer his mind away from that.

 _My slippers are completely ruined_ , he thought mournfully instead, wondering why he hadn't had the presence of mind to change into shoes before escaping. He couldn't dredge up more than a faint sense of regret. The sun, finally emerging from the cloud cover, was just starting to set; insects sang in a high, trembling harmony.

But other than that, the field was utterly quiet, and try as he might, he was having no success outpacing his thoughts. 

If only ruined slippers were the worst of them.

 _'Lendel loves me_ , he reminded himself firmly. _Staven being here doesn't change anything. I always knew about them. I thought I was ready. I thought I could—_

Could what? He didn't know. Share? He thought back to meeting Gala. He'd felt _jealous_ , certainly, but had quickly accepted her as part of their lives. She was important to Tylendel; she was part of him. He accepted her. Surely Staven should be the same way.

… but it wasn't the same. 

_It's the feeling of being left out. With Gala, and with Staven. They have a part of 'Lendel that I'll never have. They can get inside his head, his heart. They share things with him that I never can. I'll never be part of him the way they are._

Was that alright? Wasn't 'Lendel's love enough? It was _everything_ to Vanyel. It was more than he had ever dreamed of, and then some. It was his reason to exist.

Was _that_ alright?

Vanyel's feet slowed to a stop, and he wrapped the grey cloak tightly around himself, shivering. It did very little to cut the chill of the evening air, or his fears. 

The sound of footsteps made him raise his head. Without realizing it, his absently winding pathway had taken him straight towards the grove where he often sat with Tylendel and Gala—the latter of whom was now approaching, walking sedately and with surprising elegance in the sucking mud. 

"Good—good evening," Vanyel stammered, half-raising a hand as if to reach out to her, then stopping himself, dropping it heavily to his side.

Gala inclined her head and regarded him impassively. 

"… I suppose you must have heard the news," he managed after a moment. "I mean … of course you did." _Brilliant, Vanyel. Very smooth._ Though he couldn't help but wonder _what_ , exactly, she had heard from Tylendel.

Not like she was likely to tell him.

Gala took a few steps forward, nudging his back with her nose, causing him to stumble forward. "Oh… yes? I mean—I'm sorry. Do you want to walk …?" He set off helplessly, trying to understand what she was trying to say, but she was no more readable for his efforts. 

Much like his attempts to understand what was going on with Tylendel and Staven, he thought bitterly. And with no more insight about where he fit in there.

Gala kept pace with him, though, and Vanyel's discomfort slowly faded to an uneasy sort of companionship. They walked along the edges of the field where twining flowers were in bloom, colourful and twisted around faded gray posts, petals heavy with droplets that gleamed orange in the setting sun. Vanyel felt his breathing grow easier, come a little more slowly, filling his chest and steadying him.

He stopped, looking down into a small pool, and watched his reflection stare back up at him. His eyes seemed very wide in his pale face, made even more so by the light cloak pulled up over his shoulders, hood half-obscuring his dark hair. After a moment, the picture seemed to ripple as Gala's head rested on his shoulder, whuffling. A picture all in white, or almost.

"… are you as worried as I am?" Vanyel said very softly. Gala pawed at the ground, which he took as a question—or maybe he just wanted an excuse to hear his own words out loud. " … _for_ 'Lendel, I think. More than anything. Of course I don't want to lose him. But if that's what make him happy …" 

The noise Gala made was _definitely_ a protest, and he shied away in surprise, almost stepping straight forward into the pond.

"I—I don't plan on going anywhere!" he protested. "I want to be with him so much, I—I …I think I'd _die_ if we were apart. But I don't even think that's what's bothering me most right now. It hurts, seeing him with someone he's—he's so much closer to than me. Seeing that 'Lendel that I don't recognize, but …"

He swallowed hard, turning to run his hand along Gala's neck. His fingers were trembling.

"… I'm sorry, this is stupid—I'm just talking out loud—I'm just—"

_Afraid._

Gala turned her head to look at him with those wide, piercingly bright blue eyes, and he fell absolutely silent. _Not so stupid_ , the look seemed to say. She leaned into his touch, warm and solid and perhaps the only person who _could_ begin to approach how he felt; Vanyel let out a choked breath, slowly leaning against her as dry sobs began to wrack his shoulders, soundlessly. 

Gala didn't move away, just pressed against him, warm and reassuring and solid, and seeming like she understood.

***

When Vanyel returned to the suite much later, he could somehow tell with absolute certainty, even before stepping inside, that Tylendel and Staven were not there. There was a sense of emptiness that rang in his chest—which _may_ have been why he was so startled when someone moved.

Savil looked up from where she was staring into the fire.

"Havens, boy!" she barked. "Get that cloak off! You're soaking wet." She rose as quickly as her stiff joints allowed—rain always made it worse, Tylendel had once observed—and crossed the room to him. "What in the Lady's name were you doing? Stomping in mud puddles?" 

"More or less," he admitted, trying to sound impassive, but his teeth were already chattering.

Savil was perfunctory, helping him peel out of the chilled and muddy outer layers. The rest of him was dry, so after a cursory inspection, she bundled him in a fur-lined blanket and all but ordered him to sit in front of the fire while she called for tea.

He sat where he was told and stared up at her with a dazed expression, overwhelmed by this sudden show of protectiveness. He couldn't remember the last time anybody had treated him this way, though he couldn't really say that he minded. 

The thought was squelched a little as she looked down the severe slope of her nose at him, mouth twisted into a frown as she lowered herself into her chair with her own mug by her hand. "You've met him, then, I presume," she said distastefully.

"… Staven? Yes, of course," Vanyel said, hesitating. "He's not—"

"He's a hot-headed fool!" she snapped. "Tromping on out here like he owns the place. Like he's not going to flip everything upside down, undo everything 'Lendel's been working towards, get his foot in his mouth around Court. He can't do anything but ruin his own chances, and _neither_ of the little idiots seems to understand. And there's no use talking to either one of them about it, because if _one_ doesn't go into a rage, the other will if you so much as bat an eyelash—"

 _She's venting on me,_ Vanyel thought, in something close to awe. Savil was actually talking to him about her worries. Because he happened to be here? Because he wasn't protesting?

_Because she thinks I'll understand?_

Savil seemed to catch herself at it after another few moments in the same vein, exhaling heavily and sinking back into her chair. "And now you're all wrapped in it too, lad. _Don't_ get involved, for Havens' sake. You've got enough on your plate as it is."

"I can't help but get involved," Vanyel said helplessly. "It's about 'Lendel…"

"It should be about 'Lendel a little _less_ ," Savil shot back. "He's going to be a Herald. He can't be about his brother and his petty squabbles forever."

"Family is family," Vanyel shot back, finding himself sitting up a little straighter, a little struck by how _bizarre_ that must sound, coming from him, to her. It was certainly reflected on Savil's face—she raised one thin eyebrow, higher than Vanyel thought it was possible to arch. "I just mean… no matter what you are, or where you go, family ties still mean… something. No matter what happened, or what—what you want in the future… Even if you don't want them."

He looked down at his lap, twisting his hands there. When Savil didn't answer, he pressed on.

"'Lendel told him that, you know. To Staven's face. That he's a Herald. That he can't pick sides, even for family. But it must be hard. It was the two of them against the world. And now it's not, but I can't feel like maybe it's still hard to trust the rest of the world. Especially when it's wronged someone as much as it's wronged them." 

Savil made a little noise, though Vanyel didn't sneak a glance up. He stared into the fire instead, until the heat stung his eyes, flames dancing in his vision.

"Be that as it may," Savil acknowledged finally, "I still don't like it. It's not healthy. And what's he going to do when he ruins himself? Drag 'Lendel down with him, most likely."

_I won't let that happen—!_

"We have to trust 'Lendel," he said quickly. "And we have to help him… no matter what." 

He was a little surprised at his own words. He'd always felt that Tylendel was almost beyond reproach. The trainee always seemed to know what to say when Vanyel was upset; he was always smiling, relaxed, loving … 

That part of him wasn't a lie. But … it wasn't complete. 

_He's everything to me, yes. But I've barely scratched the surface of_ who _he is._

To his surprise, he felt a hand in his hair, smoothing at first, then ruffling. He looked up; his Aunt's expression was surprisingly soft, though the lines around her mouth and eyes were still drawn tight. "You're a good lad," she commented. "I'm proud of you. I really am. For keeping this—all this, despite my fool brother trying to do everything that should have made you lock it away."

Vanyel felt himself blinking at her owlishly, utterly at a loss for words. 

Savil seemed to take that as her cue to leave, clearing her throat almost self-consciously and rising, with another soft, subvocal grumble. "Maybe if he has you to balance his head about things, there's some hope for us all yet." 

Vanyel pulled the blanket more tightly around himself as he watched Savil retreat to her room. His own bedroom, dark through the open door, seemed very empty and very cold. 

He stayed by the fire until his eyes were dry and sweat stuck strands of his hair to his cheeks. Finally, he washed up a little, trudging into the dark bedroom and curling up in the center of the bed—

(The bed he shared with 'Lendel.)

—and, for the second time that day, he wept.


	4. Chapter 4

Vanyel slept eventually, eyes stinging and throat dry, fingers curled up tightly and knotted in the sheets. His cheeks felt raw and his dreams were dark—unfamiliar and disorienting, like the bed was pitching beneath him even as he slept.

He was drawn out of a restless sleep by the sound of the door closing and the sensation of a warm body carefully sliding under the covers next to him. 

" _Ashke_ …?" Tylendel murmured, although Vanyel had remained very still. 

_Right. His Gifts._ There was no fooling 'Lendel into thinking he was still asleep.

"Mmh," Vanyel said, rolling over and hoping that the dimness masked his reddened eyes. "Welcome back." Then, hesitantly— "Where's Staven?"

Tylendel chuckled softly, reaching out to stroke a hand over Vanyel's silky hair. Vanyel felt himself shudder, leaning into that touch with aching neediness, craving that connection, that reassurance. "He decided he didn't want an empty bed t'night either, so he's off keepin' himself warm." His voice was very slightly slurred, with the very careful enunciation of someone who's drunk and trying very hard to keep anybody _else_ from noticing.

"Is that alright…?" Vanyel ventured carefully. He could just make out Tylendel's quizzical look—felt him stiffen somewhat, then chuckle, tugging Vanyel closer to his chest.

Vanyel leaned against Tylendel, letting out a long, shaky breath and drinking in the sensation of Tylendel's strong arms around him with more hunger than he could have imagined. _I need you. I need this._

"'Course it's alright. What's wrong with enjoying himself a li'l? It gets awfully boring at home, with the same people, half of 'em ones he wouldn't spit at sideways after what happened with me. He deserves something nice." A slight pause, then Tylendel's voice grew a bit more serious. Almost cautious. "… why?"

Vanyel swallowed hard. "Nothing! I was just making sure you were alright. I heard Aunt Savil yelling when I left…"

"Oh, that's nothing different than usual," Tylendel exhaled. "You don't need t' worry about it, Vanyel. There's some things that can't change. I love Savil, but she doesn't like Staven for some reason, an' I _told_ her I wasn't going t' put up with _any_ of it—"

He was getting angry just remembering it. Vanyel could feel it radiating off of him even as Tylendel tightened his arms, keeping Vanyel squeezed close to him. 

He felt like he couldn't breathe.

After a long moment, though, Tylendel forced himself to relax, nuzzling into Vanyel's hair, exhaling heavily. Vanyel could smell the wine on his breath. 

"S'fine," Tylendel sighed. "I'm sorry, love."

"… it's a lot of stress for you," Vanyel ventured carefully. "When two people you care about don't get along. You must feel pretty torn." 

"I guess," Tylendel said hesitantly, that sense of _pressure_ starting to build again. "I just need t'support Staven. After everything he's done for me… I _know_ what I have to do as a Herald, what Savil _wants_ me t'be, but—she doesn't understand. She doesn't understand…" He shifted up one elbow far enough that he could squeeze Vanyel's shoulders, fingertips digging in so hard that Vanyel half-wondered if he'd have bruises later. 

Tylendel pulled back to look at him, earnestly trying to read Vanyel's expression in the near-darkness. " _You_ understand, don't you?"

Vanyel stared back at him.

"—of course, 'Lendel," he murmured, after a pause. "He's your brother. Of course I understand how you feel." 

It _almost_ wasn't a lie, and Vanyel was rewarded with a dazzling smile that some dark part of him acknowledged that he absolutely didn't deserve. 

"I'm so glad," Tylendel murmured, leaning in to rest their foreheads together. "Van… I love you so much. I knew I could count on you. I know Staven is a bit overwhelming, an' this was a bit startling—I wasn't expecting it either, you know, even though we're bonded. He must've been intending to surprise me… don't know why. Ahh, but that's his way, though. But Van, it'll be alright. I got to introduce you. The two most important people in my life… an' Gala, of course, but she always has problems with him…" 

He was rambling again, half-drifting. Vanyel took the opportunity to lift his hands carefully to Tylendel's face, brushing back those curls and leaning forward to brush their lips together briefly.

Tylendel fell silent with a soft exhale, lips moving very softly against his. 

_I love him so much_ , Vanyel thought, the feeling like a piercing ache in his chest. _I can't be mad at him. I need to do whatever I can. To protect this as much as I can._

_To protect—him?_

"… Gala doesn't know," Tylendel muttered, eyes closed, lips only inches from Vanyel's and only moving slightly. "About my bond with Staven. She _knows_ about it," he added, before Vanyel could say anything, "but not… mmm. Savil, too. You know, most bonds like that, they weaken with distance. Ours never does. All I need t'do is think about him, and I'm _there_. He's always there… they can't know! If they knew, they'd take it away from me, and then I'd be—"

He fell silent, just staring at Vanyel. 

Vanyel stared back at him, equally wide-eyed and frozen, then slowly licked his lips, trying to find his voice. "I won't tell anybody," he promised. He thought about Gala pressing warmly against him while he wept bitterly; he recalled Savil's exhaustion, her praise, her gentle hand on his hair. "I won't tell them about it, 'Lendel, don't worry. You're safe." 

_They love you too_ , he thought. _Why do you think they'd be worried about something like that, if not to protect you?_

Tylendel looked so heartbreakingly relieved that Vanyel could swallow his guilt, forget his concerns, at least for now. 

Almost.

"I love you. I love you. Vanyel, my beloved…" Tylendel started to stroke Vanyel's hair again, shifting to get more comfortable, limbs tangled with his. "I'm so happy with you. I hope Staven can understand. I wanted to tell him all about you, but we were—we were out, and I couldn't. But he knows how I feel, you know? Because we're bonded. He has t' like you, because I love you."

Vanyel nodded and smiled, and didn't believe it at all. "I want for him to like me," he said hesitantly. "I'm sorry if I said anything to make either of you angry, earlier."

"Angry?" Tylendel blinked, then kissed Vanyel's forehead. "I could never be angry at you. You're perfect. An' beautiful. My lovely peacock." 

His fingers were beginning to trail down Vanyel's neck, amorously toying with his hair. Vanyel felt the mood shift abruptly, just as Tylendel ducked his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of his jaw, breath hot. 

"…let me show you how much?" 

Vanyel _wanted_. His body was responding, a fuzzy sort of warmth spreading through him, chasing away the chill from earlier. He let out a soft gasp in return, automatically turning his head to find 'Lendel's lips with his own, easing into a deep kiss. Tylendel's broad hands were warm on his shoulders, trying to find their way under his nightshirt. Tylendel's knee was sliding between Vanyel's legs, his muscular thigh offering purchase to grind. Tylendel's tongue was heavy in Vanyel's mouth, moving in long, slow drags, sweet with the taste of—

Vanyel broke the kiss with a gasp like a drowning man coming up from underwater and pressed one hand to Tylendel's chest. He lifted the other to Tylendel's lips, fingertips tracing there, fighting a smile that somehow threatened to surface in response to the comically confused look on Tylendel's face. Vanyel tucked back a curl twisted like a question mark that was dangling in front of Tylendel's nose.

"I love you," he said softly. "But it's very late. And it'd be _very_ poor form if you fell asleep in the middle."

Tylendel scoffed, but seemed to acknowledge the sense of this as he felt his eyelids threatening to droop again. "I wouldn't… nnh. Gods, you keep me sensible. I probably would. Then I'd leave you hanging, and I'd _never_ forgive myself." 

Vanyel laughed a little, genuine, thumb smoothing across Tylendel's cheek. He watched the gentle humor dancing in 'Lendel's eyes. He gazed at the heavy shadows cast by his long, thick blond lashes. He tangled his fingers in 'Lendel's curls and drank in the sight of 'Lendel breathing softly from between slightly parted lips, still wet from kissing Vanyel so sweetly.

He thought about 'Lendel's _goodness_ , the part of him that wanted to be a Herald—was _going_ to be a Herald. Vanyel thought, both with admiration and dismay, about that part of Tylendel that he couldn't quite understand. He thought about 'Lendel's arms around him as they studied together, slept together, ate together—that protective embrace that seemed to block out everything else and make the painful world outside seem somehow irrelevant.

Vanyel had never even dreamed that he would find anybody that fit so perfectly against him, filling all of his emptiness with warmth and love, smoothing out the parts where he was sharp and broken. 

"I love you," he said quietly, even though Tylendel had already started to drift off. The trainee still smiled in response, eyes still closed, and flopped back to get more comfortable in his usual bed-devouring sprawl. 

_I love you_ , Vanyel's thought echoed his words as he curled under the blankets, pressing his face into the pillow. "I love you," he murmured again.

Tylendel was already fast asleep, and still didn't answer. 

"I need you," Vanyel whispered into the dark.

***

He woke up with a gasp, breathless and confused.

It wasn't yet morning; the dim light filtering in through the curtains was barely brighter than it had been when he'd closed his eyes. It was so quiet that he could clearly hear the occasional snatch of trembling nightingale song from as far away as the grove. 

_So, what just—?_

He _felt_ , more than heard, Tylendel shifting behind him. Vanyel didn't need to roll over to realize that Tylendel was lying curled on his side at the far edge of the bed rather than pressed up against Vanyel like he'd gotten accustomed to. He was shifting occasionally. Rhythmically. 

As Vanyel listened, frozen, the rustle of cloth against skin began to be more pronounced, picking up volume and speed.

He heard Tylendel's breath hitch, and all of a sudden Vanyel _knew—_

_Tylendel's beautiful brown eyes, pressed tightly closed. His teeth, catching at his full lower lip, struggling to keep himself from raising his voice. His arm, trapped uncomfortably underneath himself as the other draped over his own side, wrist twisted . His long fingers, sliding down into his own nightclothes, twisting through the damp curls at the juncture of his thighs._

_Relief, then. His wide palm rubbed at his aching cock, and his breath shuddered—_

Vanyel heard _that_ much—that sharp, keening inhalation. He was frozen in place, hardly daring to move, to breathe. He didn't know why. He didn't need to look. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

 _This isn't that weird_ , he thought deliriously. _It's absolutely fine if he—I mean, we all touch ourselves. I did turn him down. He probably just—_

Tylendel's hand was moving more frantically now. Vanyel felt his cheeks burning. His skin felt alternately hot and cold. Yes. It's fine! No, something's different. Why? He could feel, he could _feel—_

Tylendel was right there beside him, but for some reason Vanyel could no more turn over to touch him than he could if Tylendel were on the other side of the Palace grounds. 

On the other side of the Palace grounds. With—

Murmuring pressure seemed to build and build before finally coming to a head, bursting, and Vanyel blessedly managed to hide his own soft, shuddering cry under the much louder gasp torn free from Tylendel's throat. Vanyel yanked at the sheets next to his head, trembling as it pressed down on him—seemed to pluck him like a harpstring and leave him vibrating.

He heard Tylendel's soft, shuddering breath into the quiet room, clear as a bell:

_"Staven…"_

Tylendel was quiet after that. A few moments later, he shifted, wiped himself off, tried to move around to get comfortable. There was a long moment where he suddenly seemed to pause—like he was focusing. Looking, listening for something—

Vanyel pressed his eyes tightly closed and tried to block him out. _Willed_ Tylendel not to catch him, not to notice Vanyel's uneven breathing, the tight line of his shoulders, the trembling of his fingertips that he couldn't stop.

Perhaps it worked. Perhaps Tylendel was too spent and drunk and exhausted to notice. He simply let out a sigh, then finally seemed to go still.

Vanyel stared into the darkness until he was certain that Tylendel was asleep—until he could hear the other boy's breathing even out, catching on a soft snore. 

And then he simply continued to stare, gazing out somewhere into the dark, mind reeling, until finally sleep claimed him and there was blessedly nothing else.


	5. Chapter 5

The whispers followed Vanyel everywhere.

"Did you hear? Staven Frelennye—"

"Staven Frelennye, you know, Tylendel's twin—"

"Staven? Is he, you know, _like_ Tylendel—?"

" _I_ heard from Evan Leshara—"

"What do you think Staven is going to do?"

"Staven—"

( _"Staven… " Tylendel breathed, throaty and choked as the word caressed his lips, body arching, taut._ )

Vanyel clenched his jaw and breezed past the cluster of students in the corridor, nose tilted up. He had reason enough to be presenting a foul mood today, he supposed. They all knew about his own apparent feud with the Frelennyes, so having Staven here could hardly be an auspicious event for him. 

He strode quickly and purposefully ahead—was darkly amused, somehow, at the way people scattered out of his way. He cut an effective figure, he knew, with his long dark hair streaming behind him like a banner, the loose sleeves of his all-black outfit sharply accentuating the black breeches that hugged his thighs. His heavy boots gleamed, and he noticed someone visibly wince as his foot came down heavily on the landing in the Great Hall. 

He wished he could find it more satisfying. But it was something.

He didn't want go back to his room. Not now, now yet. So he headed where he knew he would find his usual coterie. At least there he could complain loudly and try not to think.

With that goal in mind, he thought nothing of the large, chattering group near the fire until he'd already approached too closely to turn back and saw several of them glance his way. A gasp of shock. A giggle of delight. Reva tugged repeatedly at Wendi's sleeve, whispering frantically in her ear. Whatever she said caused Wendi's eyes to grow as wide as saucers, lips parting in a soft "oh."

As the bodies parted to either side as if to clear a path for him, Vanyel suddenly understood. 

Staven Frelennye sat in the middle of the flock of courtiers, one arm around Tashi, the other draped carelessly over the back of his chair, legs spread and head tilted back in a loud laugh—comfortable and effervescent and like he owned the place. 

Vanyel's feet were very much moving him forward on their own. _I don't want to see him_ , he thought frantically. _I can't do this right now. I don't have the energy. I don't want to look at him—_

But it was too late. Staven looked up, gaze meeting Vanyel's. 

And he smiled a wide smile with all of his teeth. 

"Well, if it isn't Vanyel Ashkevron!" Staven's voice rose loudly over the crowd, killing any and all remaining conversation. An unnatural hush fell, and the courtiers pulled even further away, leaving Vanyel facing Staven directly. "Did you know, we were _just_ talking about you."

Vanyel stared at him for a long moment, bleak and blank. Staven.

( _"Staven…"_ )

"Only good things, I expect," Vanyel replied glibly, with his most charming smile. He let his feet take him a few more steps forward. The most comfortable chair, and coincidentally the one directly facing Staven, was occupied. Vanyel paused next to it, slanting his gaze sideways, looking down at its occupant along the line of his nose. His long fingers curled against the side, tapping once, twice.

It didn't take anything more than that. Liers scrambled out of the chair immediately, hurrying back into the crowd. Vanyel sank into the chair like it was only his due, spreading his arms to either side and allowing the black fabric to drape around him.

Staven played his cards close to his chest—Vanyel had to give him that much. His expression barely wavered. But Vanyel thought that he caught a slight quirk of his eyebrow; a faint twist of his mouth.

_Two can play this game, Staven Frelennye._

"Oh, good things, of course," Tashi was assuring him earnestly, probably trying to recover a little from the possible perceived betrayal of being seen on Staven's arm. _And in his bed_ , Vanyel had no doubt. "I was telling Staven that I hoped you two would be able to get along, even after, you know, that _incident_ with Tylendel…" 

"She did tell me all about the _incident_ ," Staven assured him. "As well as all the rest of the petty, spineless sniping—"

"Which of course, you know, is behind us," Vanyel interrupted smoothly. "… at the behest of my most esteemed Aunt." His addition was dripping with such insincerity that it set off a chain of tittering laughter all around. "I've no interest in fighting further."

"Perhaps _you_ don't, you little toad."

"Staven!" a couple of the girls admonished, but Vanyel could see their delight as much as they were trying to save face. For his part, Vanyel felt a cold knot sinking heavily in his stomach. Staven looked angry—really, honestly angry, and Vanyel couldn't tell if he meant it or if he was just that good of an actor. He really looked like he'd be willing to start a fight at any moment, even though he _knew_ —

 _Maybe it's not even the_ incident _that he's mad at me about._

Vanyel couldn't afford to start anything. The mud fight with Tylendel had been deliberately planned; they'd used Tylendel's magic to obscure the fact that they weren't actually fighting, and even then they both ended up worse off than they'd meant to. Staven was bigger and stronger than both of them, and with this many people so close—

"And a fine fool you'd make of yourself, crawling to the city only to start brawling like some backwater country ruffian. It's no wonder the Court wants to keep you on a short leash, _Lord Holder_. You're clearly not ready to handle anything with any more sophistication than a child might." 

The words poured off Vanyel's sharp tongue with ease, ringing with truth and with sincere intention to hurt. He _saw_ them strike Staven and sink in; his brown eyes narrowed and darkened with rage, and he started to surge up out of the chair.

_"You take that back, you little—"_

Tashi and Cress grabbed onto each of Staven's arms, pleading with him and trying to hold him back. Vanyel took advantage of the brief delay to rise again, slipping out of his chair and sweeping a hand at the courtiers clustered around, wrist flicking as he gestured to them to move out of the way. "Now if you'll _excuse_ me."

 _Don't follow me_ , he pleaded silently, striding through the crowd a little quicker than he'd like. _Don't follow me. Don't do this._

Maybe Staven did. Maybe he didn't. Maybe the girls had managed to talk him down, or maybe they just delayed him enough to allow Vanyel to get outside the Great Hall. As soon as it seemed like the coast was clear, Vanyel broke into a run, dashing outdoors and tearing away into the gardens.

_Don't follow me. Don't look for me. Just don't—!_

He bent his head and kept running, feet crunching as they slammed down on the crumbling gravel. Any time he heard voices ahead, he swerved, ducking between trees, leaping over flowerbeds, careening down small side paths. He was sure he frightened at least one gardener and angered another—a slim figure all in black charging his way through like a rampaging demon.

He ran until he was out of breath, until he stumbled and slipped—

He hit something warm and heavy. He flung his arms around it automatically, losing his balance, just leaning there and panting frantically. 

_Gala?_

He managed to struggle upright again, looking up with both tears and sweat wet on his cheeks. It … wasn't Gala, he didn't think. It was a Companion, yes. He wasn't sure how he knew it wasn't Gala, but—

"I-I'm sorry!" he gasped, dropping into a bow and trying to salute at the same time, confused and frantic. "I'm very sorry!"

The Companion regarded him as one might a passing breeze. He mumbled something else along the lines of an apology and tried to stumble past. 

A soft whinny caught his attention; it almost sounded like a laugh. He jerked his head up as another Companion trotted towards him. _That_ was Gala, and despite everything, Vanyel found himself pulling a face at her, even as he tried helplessly to dry his face with his sleeves and wipe his nose. 

"Don't laugh at me," he muttered, and to her credit, she didn't—just butted her head against his shoulder and let him lean on her as they walked. They walked until Vanyel could breathe again. They walked until the sun began to set. And when Vanyel finally, reluctantly, started to head home, Gala stood and watched him leave.

***

He thought he might try to sneak into his room without seeing anybody, but the moment he opened the door, Staven and Tylendel were both already there— _right_ there, like they'd been waiting.

"Van!" Tylendel began to rise, eyes wide. "You're so late! I was worried!"

_Did Gala not tell him…?_

"I—'Lendel…" Vanyel's voice caught, then broke.

Staven rose faster than Tylendel, grabbing onto his brother's shoulder and pushing him back down in his chair, letting out a laugh. " _You_ were worried? Gods, boy—you were starting to make me think that you thought I was really mad at you after that little stunt you pulled!" 

Vanyel stared at him. Tylendel sat quietly by his brother's side, eyes a little wide, but didn't say anything. Staven's posture was relaxed, but his eyes (so like 'Lendel's, so very not) were still… hard. Narrow, and trying to conceal something dark. 

_Don't fight with him_ , Vanyel thought. _Don't make 'Lendel unhappy. Don't say what you mean. Don't let them know what you feel. Let it blow over. It'll all blow over. Don't—_

"Vanyel—" Tylendel started, almost pleadingly, as if he knew.

"Did you not mean it?" Vanyel said, with a calm that he didn't feel, walking over to the bed— _his_ bed, the bed _he_ shared with Tylendel—and taking a seat. "Because it definitely seemed like you did." 

Staven's gaze flickered as he turned his head to watch Vanyel move. "Of course I didn't—"

"I did," Vanyel interrupted. "I thought you were a fool."

Vanyel had read the phrase "the silence was deafening" in books before. He'd always found it slightly hard to imagine; it was a pretty turn of phrase, surely, but he could hardly imagine what that actually meant.

He understood, quite suddenly, and wished that he didn't.

"… Vanyel, what?" Tylendel murmured finally, looking genuinely worried, brows creased. His tone was gentle, but he was sitting with his shoulder as rigid as his twin's, knuckles white where they were clenched on the arms of the chair. "What are you talking about?"

Vanyel's lips trembled. He pressed them tightly together and drew in a deep breath through his nose.

"I think you've made a mistake," he told Staven clearly. "You should have warned 'Lendel you were coming. You should have asked him. You couldn't have known what his situation was here, or what you'd be jeopardizing by showing up here. On top of that, you're coming to Haven in the middle of what's obviously a volatile situation for you. Could you really afford to leave your Holding right now? Is it so secure there that you're not worried about seeming unreliable? There could be discontentment that you're exacerbating among your own people—not to mention abandoning your responsibility to make sure you're there for them in a crisis, in case the Lesharas acted on something." 

Staven's expression was twisted into a fearsome grimace. Vanyel found himself trembling, and gripped the fabric over his knees so hard that his fingers ached. He'd never seen an expression before. All of Jervis's rage, all of his father's disappointment—it paled next to the darkness in the eyes of this young man. 

"You—" Staven spat, "Have no right—"

"I'm a noble just like you," Vanyel shot back. "Just because I've no particular _interest_ in being my father's heir doesn't mean that I wasn't raised to be." 

" _You_ threw it all away for a dick up your—"

" _Staven!_ " Tylendel cried out. 

Hearing Tylendel say his twin's name seemed to push something to breaking in Vanyel. He rose like a black shadow, drawing himself up to his full height, letting his voice (deeper still than Staven's) ring out. "Can't you let go of your stubborn pride and realize that _maybe_ the way you're going about things isn't _right_? That maybe if you can't get anybody on your side, if everyone thinks you're hot-headed and incompetent, too immature to be Lord Holder, that you should try to prove them wrong by _changing_ , not by digging your heels in and chomping at the bit? Trying to fight with me, planning on threatening Evan Leshara—maybe I'll never be a Lord, but _I threw it away for love._ Not that I'd expect you to know anything about that! If you really loved 'Lendel, if you weren't _blind_ , you'd be able to see that this is _hurting_ him! You—"

" _Stop_!" 

Something hit Vanyel with enough force to cause him to see stars, and he reeled back in shock, collapsing near the side of the bed. Tylendel had surged to his feet, eyes wide and wild, standing between the two of them with his arms spread wide. His curls twisted in an invisible wind; his face was white, lips pulled back like a frightened, angry animal, and his eyes—

Vanyel whimpered, low in his throat, and looked away, feeling as though his veins had been replaced with ice. The malevolence pouring off Tylendel frightened him so much he couldn't speak; couldn't move. 

_He had to run—_

He was in a blind panic. He refused to look up. He didn't want to see it again—that face. _'Lendel. 'Lendel … oh, gods. What have I done?_

He was outside before he realized it, before his brain caught up with the fact that his shaking legs could even carry him that far. There were tears in his eyes again. Distantly, he could hear a voice calling for him, anguished—

"—Vanyel! _Vanyel_!" 

He didn't care. It was over. Everything was over. 

He kept his head down and _ran._


	6. Chapter 6

Vanyel woke up, sore but surprisingly warm. It felt as though there was sand under his eyelids, and his lips were dry, throat hoarse from sobbing. After a long, dazed moment, he realized he was lying on the grass, using a Companion as a pillow. And nearby—

He scrambled abruptly into a sitting position, trying to say something, but only managing a croak. Two or three of the Companions clustered around him lifted their heads, looking at him with unreadable expressions, before going back to ignoring him. The others (at least five of six in total) just didn't acknowledge him at all.

"Gala?" Vanyel looked around for Tylendel's Companion, but couldn't see her amongst the group. He remembered, now—stumbling out into the gardens in the dark, frantically trying to dodge people as he fought to keep his feet moving even though his heart was hammering and it felt like the world was crashing down around him. 

He'd found himself in the Companion's Field again. He didn't know why. Gala was Tylendel's Companion, after all; surely she'd take her Chosen's side—be angry at Vanyel for hurting him. 

But she had found _him_. She guided him somewhere quiet and curled around him as he shivered and shook, until finally something loosened in him enough for him to cry and cry. The forest was dark and quiet, and there was nobody there save the Companions.

Nobody for him to hurt or disappoint. 

_But now what?_

He had a fleeting thought that he'd run away—but again, just like all the times before, he knew he had nowhere to go, nowhere to make a living. 

—that, and the thought of being away from Tylendel made his heart ache with a splitting, stabbing agony, enough to send his face into his knees as he gasped with pain. He felt a soft nose nuzzling his hair, soothing, and he gritted his teeth to try to steady himself. 

No—he had to go back. He had to beg for Tylendel's forgiveness. It didn't matter what happened with Staven; it didn't matter how Vanyel felt. He had to be with Tylendel. He couldn't imagine anything else. 

He couldn't live without him.

He didn't move right away—didn't know how much time passed while he shivered and trembled and felt the breeze on his stinging cheeks. Finally, he hauled himself to his feet, shakily bracing a hand on the closest Companion. She stood as well, helping to balance him.

"Thanks," he murmured, still looking down, and took his first step, though he barely trusted his legs to hold him. 

None of the Companions said anything, but then, he could hardly expect that they would.

***

Vanyel knew before he opened the door that Tylendel was inside. His hand trembled on the doorknob, fingers white and clenched.

 _What if he's still angry?_ Vanyel thought helplessly. _What if—what if he doesn't want to see me again?_

The thought weighed heavily on his mind, breath catching, chest tight. He hadn't considered that. He knew without a doubt that he couldn't imagine a world without Tylendel in it, but he had no way of knowing if the trainee felt the same way. 

He almost turned away. If that _were_ the case… he didn't want to face him yet. He didn't want to see him, to learn that sort of terrible truth—

The door opened abruptly under his hand, swinging inwards, and Vanyel felt himself gasp, arm still outstretched, fingers curling helplessly in the empty air. He looked up, lips trying to form words, then fell helplessly silent, the sound strangling in his throat.

Tylendel was a _wreck_. His usually tousled curls were an utterly mad crown atop his pale face like a portrait of a demented angel. Dark smudges stood out starkly under his eyes, leaving them wild and shadowed. His mouth was pressed into a tight, thin line, and his expression—

Vanyel didn't have a chance to catch much of it. Before Vanyel could understand what was happening, Tylendel had bowed his head jerkily, dropping down onto his knees in front of him, clutching his shaking hands to his own chest, twisting roughly in his shirt and tugging as if he'd rip his own heart if only he could reach.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, Vanyel—please, please forgive me…!"

Vanyel drew in a sharp breath. He felt Tylendel's anguish pouring off him like waves—the sensation left him shaking and breathless. He was immobile, paralysed and trembling under the onslaught of the other boy's despair. 

_He really feels—_

"I shouldn't have gotten angry. Gods, Vanyel, I thought I'd—I thought I'd really hurt you. I did hurt you. I'm so sorry. I—I didn't mean it. You—you have to believe me! You're everything to me, you're the world to me, I… I need you. I need you, I'm so sorry, please—"

Tylendel's voice cracked; confronted with Vanyel's frozen silence, he seemed to break even more. His shoulders slumped forward, body crumpling like a broken doll, forehead pressed to the ground.

"If you don't want to have anything to do with me anymore, I—t-th… that's… I u-understand," Tylendel said. 

( _I'll die_ , was what Vanyel realized he meant.)

"—but please," he managed to choke out. "Just… if there's anything I can do to undo it, to take it back… Vanyel—"

Finally shaking himself from his paralysis, Vanyel reached out with both hands, placing them gently and carefully on Tylendel's head.

Tylendel let out a sob. 

"… oh, _ashke_ ," Vanyel breathed out, slowly sinking down onto his own knees. "Oh, no, _ashke_. 'Lendel… I'm the one that should be asking your forgiveness." He cupped Tylendel's cheek in one hand, coaxing him to look up, tilting his face towards him. "I—I love you And nothing in the entire world can ever change that."

Tylendel stared at him, anguish and hope warring in his expression. Vanyel couldn't tell which one was causing him more pain.

"What—Van, no, I—I hurt you—" 

"And I hurt you," Vanyel said firmly, lifting his other hand to Tylendel's face as well, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on him. "And I doubted you. And I never realized how much you were hurting. I didn't realize…" he trailed off, too choked to continue.

_I never realized how fragile you are. I put everything on you and expected you to hold us both up. I made you feel like you had to be strong for the both of us and never even considered that you might feel like you needed me too._

Tears were escaping the corners of Tylendel's eyes. Vanyel wiped them away hesitantly with both thumbs, staring at him, trying to will Tylendel to believe him. 

"I didn't know what you needed," Vanyel managed to continue again, helplessly. "I didn't know how to talk about anything with you. I didn't know how to protect you. Maybe I still don't. But—oh, 'Lendel… I forgive you. Of course I forgive you. Can you forgive me?"

Tylendel choked, trembling and trying to turn his face away. "I just—I just got so angry. I couldn't think, or see… all I knew was that it was Staven, you were saying those things about him, and I had to support him, I couldn't—"

"I know," Vanyel answered gently, and for the first time really felt as calm as he sounded. "You need him. And you two have been through a lot together. I think… I think there's a lot going on, but I understand it, you know. I never meant to try to come between you. I never meant to hurt you. I—" he swallowed hard. "I was jealous. I was _afraid_. But I—I trust you," he felt tears welling in his own eyes, despite himself. "I love you. And I'm sorry."

Carefully, he let his arms slide down Tylendel's neck to his shoulders, arms slowly wrapping around Tylendel's neck. He wrapped them around the taller boy, and Tylendel sank against him gratefully, pressing his face into Vanyel's shoulder as he began to cry again, noisy and inelegant.

"I never want to hurt you… I love you, ashke. I love you like I've never loved anybody else—" Tylendel sobbed. "I'd cut out my own tongue before I let it happen again, please, believe me…!"

Vanyel _tsked_ gently, drawing Tylendel more firmly into his arms, bracing him against his chest. "Don't be ridiculous," he murmured. "I'd hate that. I'm _very_ fond of your tongue, I'll have you know." 

That earned him a weak chuckle. Tylendel's shoulders slowly began to relax; his breathing evened out, and he rested against him, trembling as Vanyel stroked his curls, his touch slow and gentle. Vanyel pressed his lips to the top of Tylendel's head and focused on remaining calm, remaining steady.

_I want to be even half of what you've been for me_ , he thought. _I'm sorry it took me so long to realize that maybe you needed something like that, too._

Then, eventually—

"Do you think you can get up?" Vanyel murmured. "I spent the night on the ground, and all the pleasant company in the world can't make up for how much every part of me is aching right now. I feel like I've taken a beating." 

Tylendel sniffed, drawing back and sitting up. His expression was much better, Vanyel thought with relief—although still pale, his eyes were clear, having regained some of the dancing light that Vanyel loved so dearly. "Gods, _ashke_ , I didn't—I didn't get any sleep at all. Gala told me where you were so I didn't go crashing around the entire Palace, but she told me not to come after you…" His expression darkened a little.

_No, don't_ —"Gala was just looking after us," Vanyel said firmly. "We needed a bit of time to settle our heads. It's alright, now. We're together. It's going to be alright. I—" he hesitated, brushing his fingertips along Tylendel's cheek. "I love you. I don't ever want to feel that way again." 

Tylendel gazed back at him, captivated, and it was as though Vanyel could see his lover's very soul, exposed and aching and beautiful. He finally felt, finally _understood._ 'Lendel's devotion, 'Lendel's love—

This was something to be protected at all costs. But he didn't have to be afraid.

"Now," he said firmly. "Bed? Please?"

Tylendel nodded, and together the two of them rose, moving slowly, hand-in-hand, into the bedroom. Vanyel sank down first, kicking off muddy shoes, reaching up to draw Tylendel down on top of him. 

"To sleep?" he murmured, taking in Tylendel's trembling lashes, the slight droop of his lids.

"Mm," Tylendel murmured back, curling up around Vanyel, tucking their heads together on one pillow, as if being more than a foot apart was more than he could bear. 

Vanyel appreciated it. He felt the same.

Then he felt Tylendel's mouth near his ear and heard a soft whisper as Tylendel's hand slid up under his shirt. "… eventually?" he murmured.

Vanyel's breath caught. He carefully tilted Tylendel's chin up, gaze searching his face. Then, after a long moment, he nodded, sinking back against the bed.

"Eventually…"

***

They made love slowly and carefully, like the other were made of spun glass. Tylendel spent ages mapping out Vanyel's skin—kissing down every inch of his neck, fingers tracing out the curves of his shoulder and collarbone, tongue memorizing the curve of his jaw.

Vanyel tilted his head back and arched up off the bed, his own fingers burying in Tylendel's hair, stroking soothingly and murmuring his name over and over again until Tylendel was shaking, breath catching on wet, trembling sobs. 

They kissed until their lips were swollen, tongues slick, mouths reddened. Vanyel made his way down Tylendel's jaw, leaving a series of faint red marks that drew forth a shuddering cry with every bite and caress. 

Tylendel was exhausted, drained to his core, but seemed to draw some sort of energy out of Vanyel's attentions. Vanyel's lips soothed his tremors; Vanyel's hands stroked him until he was warm and flushed, unnatural pallor drained away. 

"Louder," Vanyel murmured as Tylendel breathed out his name, as Vanyel's fingers wrapped slowly around his cock, thumb rubbing over the head. " _Ashke_ , I love you. I love you… Louder…"

" _Vanyel_ —!" 

As Vanyel stroked his lover to climax, he listened to his cries; and he listened to the soft whisper of _something_ , the awareness of someone at the door, listening.

"Louder," murmured Vanyel, and kissed Tylendel's forehead as he came.


	7. Chapter 7

Vanyel had never met Evan Leshara, but he recognized the man immediately. This was helped, of course, by the fact that Staven was standing five feet away from him, arms crossed, and wearing that smile, the one that said "I'll murder you" instead of "you amuse me" and left no room for misinterpretation. 

Vanyel happened on the confrontation by chance. He'd been trying to slip past the Hall unnoticed, eager to get back to the quiet of the suite after a long and stressful day. Perhaps it was just the lingering distress of the previous days, or the knowledge that _something_ might yet happen, hanging perilously over his head; maybe it was the fact that everyone around seemed to be _grating_ on him, their voices and feelings and sharp voices too much for him to bear.

He had passed the doors and hesitated, feet slowing to a stop. Without knowing why, he slipped inside, trying to stay quiet and unnoticed as he approached the back of the gathered circle with careful steps.

But nobody was paying attention to him, not with _this_ scene in front of them. Vanyel even caught sight of some Heralds and Bards listening in, when they usually left the young courtiers of the Court well enough alone. Some of them, Vanyel noticed, seemed like they might be here just _for_ this—

 _Which may be exactly what Evan Leshara wants_ , Vanyel thought with a leaden, sinking feeling in his stomach. 

"What a surprise to see you here, Lord Frelennye," Leshara was saying, voice smooth and almost soft. He had the air of someone used to speaking into a din and expecting everyone to strain to hang onto his hushed tones. His posture was relaxed, palms open, as if pleading for reason. He had a light smile, and although he came barely up to Staven's shoulder, he seemed to command attention with his presence that made mere height seem inconsequential. 

Next to him, Vanyel thought, Staven's wild charisma and roaring anger seemed like the tantrums of a child. 

"Now that's difficult to believe," Staven shot back, raising one eyebrow. "I'd wager you knew I was here before _I_ did." 

That was met with a scattering of giggles, murmured laughter. 

Leshara raised his eyebrows. "I hope you're not implying that I'm a liar, Lord Frelennye," he murmured.

"I'm not implying anything." Staven shrugged expansively. "But I can read the mood. This is the time and place you chose, is it? Well, here you have me—let's see your worst."

It was as outright a challenge as any, and Vanyel saw a faint flicker in Leshara's eyes, interrupting his otherwise composed demeanor.

"I must confess, I was hoping to speak with you," Leshara said. That brief moment was gone, slipping away behind the mask again. "What with the situation at hand—if there's anything I may be able to do to help bring this unpleasant situation to an end… well, I'm only to happy to." 

He looked earnest, reasonable. Vanyel felt himself hesitate. The Lesharas _had_ suggested a resolution; perhaps they really did want to bring this to a close. Just because—

 _No!_ He jolted a little, feeling startled. That wasn't right. They were trying to take advantage of the situation. They were trying to manipulate everyone, just as Leshara was trying to manipulate the crowd right now. Vanyel saw echoes of his brief acknowledgement in the faces of those around him: they were buying it, surely, and Staven—

Staven was already beginning to grow angrier. His eyes were narrowed, his lip curling slightly. Where Leshara's poise drew the crowd to them, comforting and effortless, Staven's passion was overwhelming. And, Vanyel knew from experience, it would only get worse. The same vibrancy that drew others to him when he was wielding it would double back to harm him when he was the one being wielded _by_ it. 

But then the tension dissipated, and Staven raised an eyebrow, expression composed and a little questioning. "Much as the sentiment is appreciated," he said, "I believe the issue is in the Court's hands. The tempers of men can be unreliable, especially where past hurts and emotions are involved, don't you think? I'm content to see where that leads."

Vanyel felt his mouth drop open, and he was sure his wasn't the only one. Somehow, Staven was managing so far. He was holding onto his temper, Vanyel could tell, with some effort. But Vanyel had seen the real Staven. He knew with sudden, sinking clarity, that it wasn't going to last. 

Leshara himself looked quite poleaxed for a moment, though he recovered more swiftly than most. "Then why are you here?" he demanded, too quickly. "If not to lean your weight on proceedings?" 

Staven chuckled. "For someone who knows so very much about my business," he answered archly, "you seem to have forgotten that I've a brother here. Politics aside, my family _is_ important to me."

"Ah, yes," Leshara was staring at him, lip curling very slightly. "Tylendel. We've certainly heard… a great deal about _his_ … activities lately, as well. I daresay—"

Staven's eyes darkened, but his interruption came swiftly: " _Herald-Trainee_ Tylendel, yes." 

Following that line of attack was suddenly dangerous, Leshara seemed to realize, his gaze darting briefly to the Heralds at the back of the group, reaffirming Vanyel's suspicion that Leshara had planned this confrontation carefully. He'd known they were there. 

_Why? To discredit Staven in front of as many people as possible. People who matter. And if he's not careful, Staven is going to fall right into his trap._

But, Vanyel realized, Leshara now had to be careful, too. By emphasizing Tylendel as a Herald, by reacting calmly, Staven had almost managed to turn the tables and use Leshara's own weapon against him.

Leshara was very well aware, and was changing tactics accordingly. "Of course," he murmured, suddenly sympathetic. "I imagine, after the loss of your parents, so young…"

Vanyel sucked in a sharp breath and covered his mouth with a hand before he could stop himself. Here it was. He knew what Staven's anger felt like and he'd barely been in the crossfire of that roiling, churning vitriol. Staven seemed to have weathered somehow under the jab at his brother, but _this—_

Staven was silent, expression almost terrifyingly blank. Just for a beat, no longer than Vanyel's gasp and a collective murmuring gasp of the crowd. _Here it is—_

Much to his own surprise, Vanyel suddenly felt a fierce stab of desperate longing that replaced the sinking sense of finality. No—it wasn't inevitable. Staven… Staven was—

 _You're doing so well,_ Vanyel thought frantically. _I know that this must hurt, but you're doing so well—Staven, oh gods, Staven, please—_

Staven's gaze seemed to turn inwards for a moment. Then, he ducked his head. His shoulders hunched; his expression, when he looked back up again, was pained and vulnerable. "It helps to be with the family I have left," he said, gazed fixed on Leshara. "He has his duty as a Herald—though I hope I can't be begrudged a short visit." 

He gestured helplessly, amused and self-deprecating, drawing gentle sympathetic laughter from the courtiers closest to him. They'd moved closer, closing the circle around him so that Staven stood with others at his back, eying Leshara with barely-restrained disapproval.

Vanyel let out a breath and felt awed. 

_He's won them over again_ , he thought. _He swallowed his reaction and turned it aside._ He felt a wave of sympathy for the other boy. _Gods, that must have hurt…_

"I apologize if my concern was unneeded," Leshara pushed out through his teeth, with the expression of a man aware he was rapidly losing ground. "Nevertheless, in the hopes that _negotiations_ won't be impacted—"

Staven waved a hand, gathering himself up, tall and broad, with the expansive gesture of one completely in control. "I'll be returning home so quickly you won't have time to miss me," he said dismissively, with a rakish grin. "I've a brief audience with Her Majesty, but I'll soon be off. As much as one prepares to make sure their home is safe while they're gone, I can't help but want to be there. Gods," he let out an infectious laugh, "I can only imagine what will happen if old man Wustfeld shows up with that _sheep_ problem again. He won't talk to anybody but me, and last time, I swear to you—"

He continued jovially with his undoubtedly rousing tale, but his words were now aimed more at the group than at Leshara directly—as though he'd let go of the grip that held on their conversation between the two of them, telling Leshara with no room for debate that _their_ conversation was over. 

Evan Leshara was dismissed.

Vanyel was filled with a deep, powerful feeling of elated pride; Leshara was furious. As the large group began to shift and disperse, Vanyel felt Leshara's gaze fall on him, and met his eyes, frozen. 

_Damn—_

He couldn't escape. Leshara was approaching him, and although most of the crowd were now talking amongst themselves, Vanyel could still feel some eyes and ears on them; could sense that this exchange would be watched attentively.

If he somehow ruined everything that Staven had just done for them… 

"Vanyel Ashkevron, isn't it?" Leshara inclined his head slightly. "I've heard much about you. I'm very sorry you had to see that…"

No.

" _I'm_ sorry I had to see that," Vanyel answered with a peal of laughter, much louder than Leshara had expected from his own soft tone. He watched the other man jump and jerk back with no small amount of satisfaction. "You must be perfectly desperate if you're coming to speak with me after all that." 

Leshara stared at him. "I'm not sure what you could possibly—"

Vanyel spread both hands, looking around them. He had garnered a small audience again already, most of whom seemed vaguely amused to see _Vanyel_ , not-so-secretly despised by the working members of the Court, grinding Evan Leshara even further under his heel. " _I_ was hoping to see Lord Frelennye lose his temper as much as the next person," he drawled, "but I find that this was thoroughly disappointing. And after you'd gone through the trouble of gathering such an audience!" 

Leshara's eyes narrowed sharply. Vanyel heard one of the courtiers draw in a breath. He saw one of the Heralds' eyes widen, and noticed her incline her head, murmuring something to the shorter man standing next to her. 

Vanyel pushed on. "That said, I'm quite sick of the whole business. The less I have to do with the Frelennyes, the better. After the incident with—the _other_ one," he let disdain drip from his tongue, "I've had nothing but headaches. Apparently he's well-liked—I know _I_ could hardly believe it." He allowed himself a conspiratorial arch of one eyebrow. "If I were you, I'd leave the two of them alone."

Leshara's lip curled, but his prying gaze found no purchase in Vanyel's aggressive disaffectation. 

"My sympathies to you, then," Leshara said stiffly, and turned to leave. "Good evening to you." 

_Well, I've just made an enemy_ , Vanyel thought wryly as he watched Leshara's back disappear into the crowd. He couldn't find it in himself to mind too much.

He turned to leave as well, then froze as his gaze met Staven's from over the heads of some of the other courtiers. Staven's head was inclined slightly as he half-listened to something Tashi was saying, but his eyes were locked on Vanyel's.

Vanyel stared back, helplessly caught. He felt hot, then cold, and his breath hitched. Staven's expression was open, easy to read—appraising, appreciative, and yearning. He knew Vanyel had seen everything. And Vanyel knew that Staven must have at least noticed the ramifications of his own brief exchange with Leshara, even if he couldn't hear the words.

Vanyel met his gaze and liked everything that he saw. He didn't dare smile, but he tried to make his own eyes say the same, hoping that the message was one that Staven would understand but anybody else that happened to catch it wouldn't understand. In response, Staven's mouth curved in the first sincere smile Vanyel had been on the receiving end of—and Vanyel gasped softly under the intensity of it. 

Staven mercifully glanced away first, and Vanyel took advantage of the moment to escape as quickly as he could without drawing more attention to himself, both hands clutched to his chest as they could somehow force his heart to stop hammering.

He headed for the Field, knowing—somehow—that he would find 'Lendel there.


	8. Chapter 8

Gala raised her head as Vanyel approached the quiet grove where Tylendel lay curled up in the roots of a familiar great tree, his head resting against his Companion's side. He seemed completely exhausted but relaxed, his tangled curls making him seem almost angelic in repose.

Vanyel sank down quietly next to them, careful not to wake 'Lendel, and smiled as Gala nuzzled his hair quietly. He didn't say anything in return, just gently brushed Tylendel's hair back from his cheek. 

He stayed like that for quite a long time, watching the shadows of the leaves dance on the trainee's cheeks, counting his breaths and basking in the sense of quiet serenity he found here.

They'd been through a lot in the last couple days, and Vanyel felt sure that it wasn't quite over yet. They still had a lot of growing to do. As nice as things had been up until then, with no disagreements and no _change_ , just basking in the pleasure of having something _nice_ for once in his life—something secret and perfect and _his_ —Vanyel had to admit that it couldn't be like that forever. 

_Even if things are hard… as long as I'm with him, I'll make it work. I want a life with you in it, 'Lendel…_ And now, even though the way to that realization had been unorthodox, he was certain that Tylendel wanted the same.

" _Ashke_ …?" Vanyel murmured eventually, voice soft. 

Tylendel wrinkled his nose in his sleep, then yawned, lashes starting to flutter. When he opened his eyes to see Vanyel looking down at him, he broke out into a wide, dazzling grin, brows creased slightly with dazed adoration.

"Van…"

For the first time in his life, Vanyel felt like he'd really come _home._

"Good morning, beautiful," he smiled. "I was worried that if you slept any longer, your curls would start to tangle up with the roots, and I'd never get you free. My lover, the tree."

Tylendel laughed gently, reaching up both arms for him. Vanyel sank willingly into his embrace, breathing in his scent as he made himself comfortable against the older boy's chest. "I'm sure I could rely on you to do something romantic and appropriately epic if that ever happened," he teased. "Maybe go on a quest, or become a legendary Herald-Mage in your desire to save me."

"Legendary Herald-Mage?" Vanyel laughed. "Don't be ridiculous! Maybe I could draw you back from the brink with my voice. And then continue to sing the praises of the great Herald-Mage Tylendel. I think that sounds a lot more likely." 

He started to laugh as Tylendel scrunched his face up again, fingers crawling up under Vanyel's shirt, tickling him mercilessly. They squirmed together for a few moments, until Gala huffed a breath, whacking Tylendel with her tail.

"Ow!" Tylendel stuck his tongue out at her. "Don't take his side! Oh—" he turned his wide eyes to Vanyel, expression growing more serious. "Vanyel, that reminds me… I want to thank you."

Vanyel's eyebrows rose. "Thank me?" he echoed.

Tylendel nodded. "Being with Gala over the last few days… talking to me and Staven about what you felt… I've had a lot to think about. And I guess—Gala and I had a lot to hash out. I wasn't listening to someone I should be able to trust with anything." He seemed a little sheepish. "I'm… sorry it took what it did to get it through my apparently thick skull. But I feel a lot better." He looked up at Gala, and the two simply gazed at each other for a long moment.

Vanyel waited patiently, twisting two blades of grass between his fingertips.

Tylendel was his love, and Tylendel was a lot of things, but much of what Tylendel was also came down to how Tylendel related to those around him—to Gala, to Staven, to Savil, and to all the people that he, as a Herald, wanted to protect. 

_I'll support that_ , Vanyel thought firmly. _As much as I can._

"… she says thank you, too," Tylendel murmured after the long moment had passed, pressing his forehead to Gala's cheek briefly before glancing back to Vanyel. 

Vanyel felt himself start to blush. "I should be the one thanking _her_ ," he muttered. "I was the one that just kept running to cry on her every day."

"She says it helped to know that she wasn't alone. And that there was at least one person in the world also on her side that I'd maybe listen to, eventually…"

"It's fine, 'Lendel…"

"It is now," Tylendel shook his head, sighing. "Or… I don't know. Maybe it's not fine. Staven's still here, and I don't know what's going to happen. I—I want him here, of course I do, but if it's hurting you, and as you said, if he's going to hurt his own chances—"

"Oh—that reminds me!" Vanyel sat up straighter. "Oh, 'Lendel, I need to tell you…"

He briefly recounted the confrontation in the Hall—how Evan Leshara had trapped Staven into a confrontation, but how Staven had kept his head and turned it around for the better. How they _hadn't_ fought, and how Staven had professed his trust not only for the Courts, but for the Heralds, and for Tylendel, too. 

When he finished, Tylendel looked so dumbfounded that Vanyel laughed outright, touching his fingertips to Tylendel's open mouth. "You'll catch flies, lover."

Tylendel caught his mouth in a kiss, instead. Vanyel let out a startled _mmph_ and clutched at Tylendel's shoulders, but couldn't help but lean into it, overwhelmed by the possessive ferocity and bone-deep appreciation that he could feel pressing on him like a palpable warmth.

The kiss broke, and Tylendel cupped Vanyel's face in both hands, thumbs rubbing across his cheeks. "You'd make a better Herald than I've been showing myself to be," he murmured, a mixture of pride and self-deprecation in his voice. 

At Vanyel's aborted noise of confusion, Tylendel continued, with the hesitant tone of a confession. "Savil always wanted me to look at the situation rationally. But I _couldn't_. I was angry—I still am angry, and hurt. Because of what they did, we lost a lot. We felt pain. And now they're still trying to take advantage of us. But—" He took a deep, shuddering breath. "But a Herald really should be able to rise above that. I never could, because I never wanted to." 

"It's understandable," Vanyel protested softly.

"It is," Tylendel agreed, looking at him evenly. "But just because it's _reasonable_ to react violently when you're in pain doesn't mean that you're going to be doing what's best."

Vanyel couldn't find fault in this—just nodded, letting his eyes slip closed as Tylendel stroked his hair. "… I didn't really mind that you were angry," he murmured softly. "I wasn't really thinking about what was objectively the most moral action. But when I heard Staven started talking about what he wanted to do… I just couldn't let him put us in danger like that. And then once I realized what he'd need to do to protect _us_ … well, it just seemed sort of selfish." He shook his head. "I'm really just selfish." 

Tylendel tugged at Vanyel's hair lightly. "Then that makes two of us, _ashke_. And you at least had the right of it. I think… we're in a better position than we were a few days ago, and that's because of you." He tilted his head to the side, briefly; Vanyel watched his curls cascade with a distracted sense of appreciation. "Gala confirms it. She says there were a couple Heralds there, and now there's rumors going around between them about about how Leshara was provoking a fight and Staven seemed a lot more put-together than they gave him credit for. His audience went well, too. He—" He had to stop, voice choked, pressing his teary eyes tightly closed.

"'Lendel—" 

"I'm happy, love," Tylendel told him, gathering him into his arms. "I'm so proud of both of you. I'm sorry I've been so…" 

"Everything we are," Vanyel interrupted, "and everything we did—it's because of you. For you, and because of you. We love you more than anything. Anything good about us—well, you're a big part of that, too. You make me want to be a better person. And maybe I'm not quite there, yet—I'm _not_ ," he emphasized, at Tylendel's attempt at a protest. "But… maybe I can be." He paused. "I want to be." 

Tylendel was in tears again, messy but silent. Vanyel felt his own eyes getting suspiciously damp. 

"… I'm so glad," Tylendel murmured, squeezing his arms tightly around Vanyel so hard that Vanyel couldn't tell if his sudden breathlessness was due to the soaring, elated feeling in his chest, or the fact that he literally couldn't get air in. He let out a strangled little wheeze, and Tylendel abruptly let go; the startled apology on 'Lendel's face was so inexplicably comical that Vanyel felt himself start to laugh as soon as he could catch a breath.

"I love you!" Vanyel sputtered, not sure if he was laughing or crying anymore. Some incoherent combination of both—apparently so infectious that Tylendel helplessly began to join in, until the two of them were rolling around, kissing and giggling and holding each other until they could hardly breathe or move or think.

When they finally fell silent, sprawled on the grass with their fingers tangled together, Gala let out a loud _huff_ into the pause and flicked her tail into Vanyel's face.

That set them off again, and by the time they managed to recover enough to stumble back to the suite, the sun had begun to set, and Vanyel couldn't remember ever being happier.

***

Savil, Mardic, and Donni were blessedly absent that evening and not due back until morning, giving Vanyel and Tylendel full access to the suite. They changed out of grass-covered clothes and sat by the roaring fire, trying not to laugh too much as Vanyel had to spend nearly a candlemark trying to pick plant bits out of his lover's curls.

"Let this be a reminder to us both," Vanyel announced, cupping the grass between his palms (almost enough to fill them both) and presenting them to 'Lendel like an offering.

The older boy looked up from inspecting their dinner, eyes wide, a meatbun hanging halfway out of his mouth. "Mmh?" he swallowed, then grinned. "A reminder of what?"

Vanyel gazed at him with as much solemnity as he could muster. "Why, the day my lover almost became a tree."

'Lendel laughed, leaning forward and _blowing_ , scattering the grass everywhere again, all over Vanyel's shirt and hair, a few blades even landing in his half-empty cup of wine.

"— _'Lendel!_ " 

"Oh, goodness, how clumsy of me. Here, let me help—" Tylendel's eyes gleamed as he tumbled Vanyel down onto the blanket in front of the fire, hands pulling at his shirt. "You've gotten it all dirty. Let's get this off of you—"

"And whose fault is that!?" Vanyel laughed, arching, letting Tylendel yank his shirt up. "Hey—that tickles— _nnnh_ …" 

His laugh trailed off into a moan as Tylendel's mouth pressed against his neck, hands sliding down his bare chest. Between the fire, the wine, and his lover's ministrations, he felt pleasantly warm all over, letting his eyes drift closed with pleasure. He stroked Tylendel's back, drawing in a breath as Tylendel kissed his way up Vanyel's jaw, lips catching at his, tongue sliding into his mouth as they eased into a deep kiss.

Neither of them noticed the _click_ of the doorknob, but they _did_ hear the long, low whistle as Staven shut the door behind himself and locked it.


	9. Chapter 9

"You really should be a little more cautious if you're that worried about being found out," Staven said casually, striding over to the fire and flopping down into one of the chairs, not even two feet away from where Tylendel lay on top of a half-naked Vanyel. 

Tylendel's cheeks were bright red, but he managed to stick his tongue out at his twin, blowing his hair back from his face. "We _are_ careful! The others are out for the night, the door was locked, you're the only other person with a spare key, and _you_ very well knew what you were walking in on!"

"I knew," Staven agreed, reaching for one of the cups of wine. He grinned at them both, apparently revelling in their embarassment, and took a smug sip. A moment later, he spat it back out, a piece of grass on his tongue.

"You deserved that," Vanyel and Tylendel told him in matching flat tones.

Staven looked affronted, picking up the rest of the wine instead. "I don't even want to ask how that happened," he said, long-suffering, and took a drink straight from the bottle. "Anyway, don't let me interrupt you. Carry on."

Tylendel stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "Excuse me?!"

Vanyel could feel Tylendel's embarrassment—it matched his own—but there was… something else behind it, a deeply-buried sort of ache. He responded to it without thinking.

"Did Tashi dump you?" he interrupted before either of the twins could continue speaking. 

Staven snorted. "Not likely." He paused a little, an unusually thoughtful expression on his face. _It looks good on him_ , Vanyel thought absently. "I really like her, actually. I might try to keep in touch. But—" He looked down at the two of them, then glanced away, out towards the window, even though the blinds were closed. "I'm heading home tomorrow, so I wanted to spend my last night here with the people who matter."

The room was silent after that. 

_The people_ , Vanyel thought, blinking up at the ceiling. _He said both of us._

"… tomorrow?" Tylendel whispered. "Already? But—"

Both Staven and Vanyel responded immediately. Vanyel sat up as much as he could with Tylendel still half on top of him; Staven put down the wine and slipped out of his chair, coming down on one knee next to both of them. They exchanged a brief, startled glance; Vanyel felt his breath catch at the concern in Staven's expression, the deep warmth in his eyes. 

Staven looked away first, reaching out to touch his brother's cheek, cupping his face with his palm. "I know," he murmered, voice as soft and intimate as Tylendel had ever been with Vanyel. "I want to stay longer, but I really should get home. There's a lot I need to put right. Some advice I need to put into practice," he chuckled softly. "They need me there."

" _I_ need you!" Tylendel burst out, then bit his lower lip, eyes wide.

Staven stared back at him, and once again they seemed to be sharing a moment, murmured and private behind closed doors. This time, though, Vanyel felt like he could understand more of what was racing between them: Staven's protectiveness, his fierce loyalty, his powerful commitment to championing his brother to the entire world and allowing every fragile and different and ostrasized part of 'Lendel thrive; Tylendel's appreciation, his unshakeable devotion to his protector, and his fixated adoration that was so deep-seated that even his bonds with Gala and Vanyel could never seem to shake it.

"… I don't think you do," Staven said finally, breaking the heavy silence. "Honestly, 'Lendel, not anymore. I think you did, once—you honestly, truly did, and I wanted to be everything for you. But we're not lonely kids anymore. You're becoming a Herald. You're in control of your powers, you've got a magic horse, and you've got a clever, beautiful, devoted idiot that you're so in love with it feels like I'm staring into the _sun_ when I look at you two. And he loves you that much right back."

Tylendel drew in a sharp breath, glancing down at Vanyel quickly. "I—I know. But…"

"Nothing changes between us," Staven told him firmly, lifting his other hand to turn Tylendel's face to him again. "You're still my other half. But, ah…" He glanced down briefly, and Vanyel felt his eyes widen at the expression he saw—longing, and a little ashamed. "We've got to be our own people, too. I think I kind of liked feeling like you needed me, so I encouraged it. Or didn't notice, I guess, how that might actually mess with anything else we tried to do."

Tylendel's mouth tightened into a shaky line. "How can you say that, and then say nothing changes…?" His voice shook a little. "It's different! If you don't want me that close, if you've had enough of it, then just _say_ so—"

Staven looked stricken, drawing his hands back in surprise. " _No_ , 'Lendel! Gods, I—I just want you to be have everything you need. I want you to be _better_ than me. I want you to become a Herald, and a—well, not a husband, but—a, a partner to Vanyel—and for you to save the world or whatever is you need to do. I don't want to be holding you back. Our bond's not going to go anywhere, but _it's okay if you call me on my shit sometimes._ "

"I don't know how!" Tylendel shouted, trying to shove him back. 

"Neither did Vanyel, but he figured it out!" Staven shouted back, and that stopped Tylendel in his tracks. His eyes widened, and he looked down, really _looking_ at Vanyel for the first time since he and Staven had started arguing—

—and turned bright red as he realized the position they were still in, scrambling off of him. "Gods—Van—oh. Oh, Havens, why didn't you say anything…"

"I was fine," Vanyel answered breathlessly, staying where he was, still looking at the ceiling with his cheeks burning red and wishing very much that they'd continued to not notice him. The tension was broken for now, but he still felt a little breathless, as though the pressure in the room were making it hard to breathe. When the twins didn't say anything further, though, he slowly pushed himself up on his elbows, looking between them and taking a deep breath.

Tylendel spoke before Vanyel had a chance to. "—you're right," he said, staring down at his hands. "I… the way I am, I can't stay this way and be—what I need to be. For anybody." His mouth twisted bitterly. "It's down to me in the end, and I need to… change. To fix the way I feel, and grow on my own. You're right."

Staven's mouth worked helplessly; he seemed frustrated, but unable to express it. Vanyel knew that _he_ could tell as much as Vanyel could that something wasn't quite right—they were reaching Tylendel, and he _was_ acknowledging that something needed to change, but there was still something—

(" _Staven…_ ")

Oh, gods.

"I heard you," Vanyel blurted suddenly. "The other night, in bed. You called Staven's name."

He could have heard a pin drop.

"… and last night, Staven, I heard you listening at the door when 'Lendel and I were in bed. I mean, you two—you're bonded, you must know, right?" 

They were both staring at him with such wide-eyed, horrified expressions that Vanyel felt his own pulse start to race. _What if I'm wrong? What if I'm saying the wrong things? What if I do something horrible to them?_

—no. 

He didn't _feel_ wrong. He was reading them right. He didn't know how he knew, but—

"It's… I mean, I feel like there's a lot that's… that's going into that," he kept going, though he heard his own voice waver with hesitation. He drew himself up taller, chin tilting up with an assurance he didn't quite feel. "I'm not… I mean, nobody needs to know. And you don't need to do anything about it. You don't need to apologize to anybody, and I don't like you any less for it."

He felt the words ring true. The idea was strange, of course, but he realized that at no point over the last few days had the fact that they were brothers been what was really bothering him. 

_After all I've been through, I feel like there are a lot of things in this world I'll be ready to accept, so long as they aren't hurting anybody._

And right now, all he wanted to do, desperately, was to ease the hurt he felt seeping between them like a miasma.

"You don't need to do anything," he repeated again, "but you need to—you need to acknowledge it so it doesn't poison you. And me. I—I don't think there should be any secrets between us. Or anything that we're afraid of showing to each other." He bit his lip and stared at both of them, pleading, _willing_ them to understand. "So—please." 

He fell silent, let the words sink in, and practically vibrated in the silence.

Finally, after what seemed like eternity, Staven's shoulders began to shake. Both Tylendel and Vanyel turned their heads quickly to look at him, wide-eyed, only to see him sink back onto both elbows on the floor, trembling with silent, nearly-unhinged laughter.

" _Lady's tits_ ," Staven cursed, beginning to laugh in earnest, though his face was pale and his words strained. "Bless him. 'Lendel, I don't know how you managed to find him, but I want to see him at family dinners for the next sixty years. Promise me that?" 

Vanyel blushed so hard he felt like all of his blood was rushing to his cheeks all at once. Tylendel's mouth dropped open, then closed, then opened again. He exhaled a breath in a strangled, trembling rush.

"I—I want nothing more," he choked out, pressing both hands to his face. "But—Stav—"

"It'd also be okay," Vanyel said suddenly, "if—if you _did_ want to do something about it."

 _I'm getting very good_ , he thought as they turned flabbergasted faces to him again, _at making them completely speechless._

"And, I mean, either way. If you wanted me to leave… I can probably just go sleep in the field again."

Staven held up a hand to forestall him, sinking his face against his other palm. " _Please_. Give a man a moment to let this sink in! Gods…"

Vanyel closed his mouth obediently, and watched Tylendel. As he expected, the trainee was watching his brother with an expression so vulnerable it made Vanyel's heart ache. This was something, Vanyel realized, that he'd been keeping bottled up for years; along with his anger, it was the part of himself that Tylendel looked at from the outside and thought, _I am unworthy_.

 _But you're not_ , Vanyel thought at him with all of his might. _If this is what it takes to settle your heart—_

Vanyel couldn't find it in himself to mind at all.

Staven finally looked up, taking a deep breath and scrubbing his face with both hands. He looked up at Tylendel, reading his expression, the tense lines of his shoulders, the way Tylendel's knuckles were white where they were clenched on his lap. "What do you want?" Staven asked, voice surprisingly rough.

Tylendel jumped slightly, eyes wide. "What?"

"I'm asking what you want to do," Staven said. "And don't even think about lying to us. We'll know." 

Tylendel's face was pale, and his gaze darted back and forth between the two of them, almost trapped. "I—no, I couldn't—"

"You're afraid of hurting Vanyel, and you're afraid of us judging you, and you're afraid of being alone, but aren't you forgetting that _we're with you until the end no matter what_ , and we love you no matter what, and we're also just going to tell you no if we want to say no? But _we_ need—"

"We need you to tell _us_ this time, 'Lendel," Vanyel chimed in. "Because we want this for you. We don't want to see that look on your face." 

Tylendel drew in a sharp breath, and somehow, out of all things, what came out of his mouth was a blurted—

"Staven, _you don't even like men._ " 

Staven's mouth twitched. He looked at Vanyel, then grinned. "Think I could make an exception."

"B-but—with _me_?"

"Oh, havens, 'Lendel," Staven rose a little, reaching out a hand to his brother. Just offering—just that much. "I let you be with me for my first time with a woman. _That_ was an altogether bungled experience all things considered, but it's not like the thought of sharing things like that with you never crossed my mind. I felt you with me the other night, too—did you think I was _that_ distracted?" He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks very faintly red despite his casual tone. 

Tylendel stared at him, eyes perfectly round. "So what are you saying?" 

"'Lendel," Vanyel said softly, reaching out for that last bit of trembling reluctance, the fierce clenching grip Tylendel held on his own fear. "It's… okay. It's okay."

Tylendel looked at him, then slowly, carefully reached out to put one hand in Staven's. The other, he held out to Vanyel, who accepted it, squeezing tightly.

It was hard to tell which of the twins moved first; they eased forward at the same time, lips meeting, and a trembling sense of _relief_ rushed through Vanyel, like a great weight had been lifted off his chest. 

_Havens_ , he thought deliriously. _That's… a very pretty picture_. He felt for a moment like he should feel bad for that thought, but then—

_No. This… this is just fine._

Staven took control of the kiss almost immediately, leaning in to tangle both hands in Tylendel's curls, tongue swiping across his lips. There was a brief moment as Tylendel hesitated, almost disbelieving, breath catching. Staven didn't chase him—simply paused, looking at him with a hazy, gentle expression, lips quirked. 

Tylendel stared for a moment then leaned back in, making a positively hungry noise as he hauled his brother close, shoving his tongue in his mouth. 

Vanyel watched them with rapt attention, his own heartbeat racing as though he were the one being kissed. They moved together with the fluid familiarity of long, inseparable acquaintance but the needy desperation of frantic new lovers. Staven's hands travelled down over Tylendel's shoulders, and Tylendel _moaned_ , arching under his touch, pressing closer. His hand tightened on Vanyel's—

The twins broke apart, staring at each other, breathing fast and hard between reddened, parted lips. Tylendel looked honestly dazed, and the ever-confident Staven didn't look much better, an aching sort of warmth in the lines of his mouth, the heavy-lidded set of his eyes.

"Alright, 'Lendel?" he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against Tylendel's jaw, the achingly gentle touch making both Tylendel and Vanyel gasp in unison. _That_ drew both of their attention back to Vanyel, and they turned to look at him.

"Van…" Tylendel whispered, looking at him with wide eyes. "Wait—I mean. I can't. Is this—?" 

Vanyel worried at his lower lip, taking a deep breath and carefully examining his own feelings on the whole matter. When his examination came back with _whatever happens is fine, I love Tylendel all the more_ , he let out a soft laugh, reaching out to touch Tylendel's cheek.

"I know I said I'd sleep outside on the ground if you wanted me to," he said, blushing despite his greatly daring words, "but if we could move to the bed, I think that would be a lot nicer." 

Tylendel looked flummoxed, cheeks growing scarlet as well, but his eyes slowly lit up as he gazed at Vanyel searchingly, as if he was reading him. 

_Perhaps he is,_ Vanyel realized, and just smiled back at him, trying to project his love, his acceptance, his—

Well. His _considerable arousal._

Staven moved abruptly, letting out a laugh and rising to his feet, scooping down to haul Vanyel up into his arms, lifting him straight off the ground. Vanyel let out a yell, flinging his arms around Staven's neck and clinging on. "Well, _I_ won't argue with that," Staven laughed, looking down at his brother with mischief glittering in his eyes. "You coming, 'Lendel?"

"You're not going without me!" Tylendel sputtered, scrambling to his feet. " _Staven_!"

***

Staven Frelennye moved fast, Vanyel thought to himself not five minutes later, as he lay between the twins and watched Staven leaning over him, hauling Vanyel's pants down over his hips with a rakish grin and a raised eyebrow.

"Not so much like a girl after all," Staven mused aloud, "Even if you _are_ awfully pretty."

Vanyel went scarlet and automatically tried to cover himself, ineffectually. Tylendel, already naked, punched his brother in the arm so hard that Staven fell back on one elbow, bouncing the mattress a little.

" _You're_ the one that's going to prove you know what to do with one of these," Tylendel shot at him, eyes dancing with mischief. 

"I have one of my own!" Staven protested, and kicked off his pants, as if to prove it. 

_Gods_ , Vanyel thought to himself, helplessly. _I'm not going to be forgetting that they're siblings. All those times my brothers joked about trying to bring twin girls to bed… they had no idea._

"It's very different," Vanyel muttered, catching Tylendel's eye. "You know. He has no idea…" 

"He has no idea," Tylendel agreed. He looked over at his brother, then flushed abruptly, looking away. 

Staven caught that glance and raised an eyebrow. "What? You've seen _that_ before, too."

"It's different!" Tylendel practically wailed. 

"Oh, come _here_ —" Vanyel demanded, reaching up for Staven and yanking him down.

He felt Staven tense a little in surprise. Until then, he'd mostly just watched the twins kiss and touch each other, slowly getting acquainted with the idea, until Staven had abruptly decided to take things up a notch. 

_But if we're going to do this—_

It felt very much like kissing 'Lendel, yet also very _unlike_. Staven moved more under his hands and mouth, like he had energy that could hardly be contained. Staven licked and bit and tried to press him back; Vanyel gasped, arching a little off the mattress, and raked his nails down Staven's neck, turning it into a flat press of his palms and feeling out the other boy's back. Staven was more muscular than both of them, and Vanyel could tell—found himself moaning a little at the sensation of Staven's body pressing over him.

He heard a small noise from beside him. _'Lendel—_

He broke the kiss with Staven, licking his lips, almost thoughtfully. Staven gazed back down at him. It felt nice, Vanyel thought, that gaze. A little overwhelming, like being a little too close to a fire, but warm and intoxicating when you trusted him enough to not worry about being burned. 

Vanyel turned to look at the trainee, reaching out one hand to him, keeping his other hand twisted tightly in Staven's short curls.

"'Lendel, kiss me," he breathed out. "Staven, _touch_ —"

Tylendel's expression was filled with so much trembling, relieved warmth that Vanyel felt he could die happy, right there, with every dream fulfilled. "Demanding peacock," he whispered, leaning down to kiss Vanyel, deep and sweet and passionately.

Vanyel heard Staven chuckle as well as he slid a hand up Vanyel's thigh. He seemed to hesitate briefly, but after a moment's pause, Vanyel felt a hand wrap around his cock, stroking. 

"It's a bit different," he murmured hoarsely, then laughed.

Vanyel moaned loudly into Tylendel's mouth, fingers yanking at his curls, and barely heard him.

He was in a daze after that. Tylendel's hands moved all over him, fingers pulling at his nipples, palms mapping out his chest. Staven jerked him off with not much in the way of finesse, fast and hard, but somehow that felt even _better_ in contrast with Tylendel's slow and deliberate touches. 

Tylendel broke the kiss after a moment, looking down at Vanyel with a dazed and brilliant smile, and began to make his way down Vanyel's chest with his mouth. "Hey, Staven," he murmured, taking one of Vanyel's nipples in his mouth, briefly lashing his tongue. "Mmhh . . . get down here."

"Hey—what, you want me to—" Staven blushed. 

Tylendel reached up, grabbing his brother by the hair and hauling him down into a deep kiss, then wrapping his fingers around Staven's hand on Vanyel's cock. "Yeah," he said. "Together." He leaned down, running his tongue over the head of Vanyel's cock, earning a strangled whimper in response. Vanyel _thought_ it came from him, but it could have come from Staven—Vanyel was utterly beyond knowing.

He felt them acutely on either side of himself. Felt Tylendel's deep love for him, for his brother; felt Staven's giddy sort of excitement. Felt their comfort with him, and with each other. Basked in their arousal, and sank down into the shared sense of balanced, trembling, shared understanding.

As Staven leaned down, warm breath caressing Vanyel's oversensitized skin, tongue tangling with Tylendel's with Vanyel's cock between them, all he could think as his voice tore out of him in a rough, loud cry was— _I'm so glad that nobody else is here tonight._

Somehow, he felt like that wouldn't be the only scream ringing out that evening, and he was rather looking forward to it.


	10. Epilogue

Vanyel made his way through the gardens in the late morning, a book under his arm and a meatbun in one hand. 

When he'd woken up some candlemarks after dawn, he found himself and Tylendel tangled together in their bed with only the heavy indentation on his other side to remind Vanyel that the previous night hadn't been a dream. 

He'd gotten dressed silently without waking his lover and snuck outside, where Donni told him that Staven had slipped out at first light.

"He left a letter by the bed, he said," she told Vanyel. "Said something about a long trip home and needing to get a head's start." She shrugged. What she thought of Staven having obviously slept in Vanyel and Tylendel's bedroom, she didn't let on, and Vanyel felt absolutely no inclination to ask.

Leaving Tylendel with the letter, Vanyel considered trying to go to class, but veered off halfway, finding his way down to the Companion's Field and following the long path close to the water. He half-considered going to find Gala; it was a beautiful morning, and he wanted to thank her for yesterday. Even if they couldn't speak to each other, he'd felt that somehow they were becoming friends—

He let out a startled noise as a large white shape seemed to materialize in front of him, silent as a ghost. He stumbled back slightly, shoving the rest of his breakfast into his mouth so he wouldn't drop it as he fell back, though his book tumbled to the side and dropped into the water, almost certainly ruined. 

He sat indignantly in the grass, staring up with wide eyes at the Companion gazing down at him, wide blue eyes glittering with teasing mischief. 

And a deep sense of love.

 _:Good morning,:_ said the voice in his head, clear and warm. _:My Chosen.:_

Vanyel stared back up at her, then swallowed hard, drawing in a shaking breath that turned into a wide, trembling smile.

***

"But he only had _potential_! He's almost sixteen, how did that possibly—"

"I don't know," the other Herald mused as Savil paced the room, half in elation and half in absolute incredulity. Vanyel, for his part, simply tucked himself more firmly in the crook of Tylendel's arm and basked in the shared, utter contentment, glee and pride radiating from the trainee. 

"Was there anything that happened, boy?" his Aunt asked him, turning to interrupt his dazed reverie. "With Empathy that strong, surely you'd have noticed."

Vanyel blinked at her, and tried to think. "I suppose I've been picking up on things a little the last few days," he said slowly. "Bit by bit. Just . . . this and that. Nothing really—"

( _"Louder," Staven murmured teasingly, straddling his brother and running his hands down over Tylendel's chest. Tylendel's expression was utterly blissful, curls splayed out around his head, and he let out a startled laugh at the suggestion, sinking his fingers into Staven's hair._

_"You two…" Tylendel protested, but moaned obligingly as Staven's mouth closed around the head of Tylendel's cock. Staven squeezed one of Tylendel's thighs, pinching a little teasingly, other hand curling around the base of his cock and dragging slowly up to meet his mouth. He was very clearly unpracticed at this act in particular, but it was clear Tylendel didn't mind, another loud cry tearing out of him, thighs flexing as he thrust up into Staven's mouth. Staven met the movement with determination, forcing himself to relax, to take him deeper, cheeks burning._

_It wasn't much longer until Staven was drawing back, coughing slightly and licking his brother's come from his lips, expression dazed and surprisingly content. Tylendel let out a plaintive noise, fingers crooking vaguely in the general direction of the bedside table and Fetching a small bottle of oil into his hand._

_Staven's eyes widened—more at the implication than the action. "Convenient," was all he said, after a long moment, meeting Tylendel's gaze as he took it from him, fingers moving together with the gentle caress of long-familiar lovers. And when he took him—Tylendel's legs high over his shoulders, Staven's hands planted on either side of his brother, body caged over him almost protectively—his movements were attentive and controlled, seeking Tylendel's pace and Tylendel's comfort and Tylendel's pleasure until 'Lendel finally yanked at him and cursed and laughed and begged him to come—_

_Already thoroughly sated, Vanyel watched drowsily from where he was curled up around a pillow, basking in the shared sensations flooding between the three of them—_ )

He felt himself going deeply, achingly scarlet, cheeks so hot he felt as though they must be on fire. Next to him, he felt Tylendel stiffen, then start coughing into his hand to mask an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

Savil just stared at him, then brought both her hands to her head, rubbing her temples with two fingers.

"Never mind, boy. Just… never mind." 

"Alright, Aunt," Vanyel grinned, honestly finding that he couldn't mind too much at all.


End file.
